There's something about Children that makes us all turn into melted toffee. Sticky candied fingers, mud-stains and gap-tooth smiles... somehow these knee-high Angels have us all wrapped around their 2cm-long pinky fingers. Yes, I know, a lot of you are probably scoffing at the term 'Angels' and thinking to yourselves, "More like hallowed Devils" (and I quite agree), but you never can hold a grudge against a 2year old for throwing a tantrum (that could quite rival the devastation of Katrina) - especially when I know for a fact that each and every one of you would be rather miffed if you were stuck in a dirty diaper that nobody remembered to change in time, or were so hungry that you could chew your own toe but hadn't mastered the art of saying, "I'm hungry" as yet - and the indecipherable sounds that you made were only taken to be the nonsense babbling of a toddler.
I bet you when a Kid smiles at you and you're busy 'awww'-ing at their cute little teeth, they're probably thinking, "Aww look, She's retarded."
The crux of the matter is though, no matter how much they harass us or what they may or not be thinking about us: Children somehow always manage to hit our soft-spot.
Personally, I love children - so long as they keep their upchuck away from me, and wash their tiny fingers before they touch me, and quite possibly if they could waddle towards me with new diapers on. Paper hearts and yellow stars, with all the effort of childish art; sunny smiles and bubbling laughter; that twinkle of mischief in their eyes (that you're both weary and intrigued by); the first little steps and halting words; their exclamation of wonderment at everything that surrounds them; a small hand that curls around your finger, and grips on as if you're their only life-line...
I suppose these are some of the infinite reasons why I let Aaliya - after watching her devour a mango in a truly horrific fashion: that only ended in the demise of the poor fruit, as a ragged and squashed yellow mound and her adorable fingers soaked in a viscous goo, with the bottom of her face washed in mango juice - with all of that, still I bent my head towards her and acceded to her demand of 'kissie'. And I know, despite my alarm at the messy ruin of it, nobody could have done more justice to that fruit than she. The gift of a 4year old - Sticky, preciously sweet, Mango Kisses.
