I love kids. They can be the smartest people I know, they're fun to be around, and they're adorable, so that always helps. :)
It's what they do and what they say that are the funniest. Sometimes their statements are so deep you think you're talking to a wise owl, and sometimes they're so sincere in what seems like sarcasm that you can't help but laugh (and then, of course, you feel really guilty when they ask what you're laughing at.)
But sometimes, they just don't understand.
Like when I'm having an awesome conversation with a twelve-year-old. [Edit: Just kidding, she's only ten.] It's all fine, we're all happy, and then I say that I have to go check my blood sugar. The look that fell over her face - it's a look that I hate with a passion. It was the look of pity. 'Oh yeah, that must suck, having...that.' No, diabetes doesn't suck. (Alright, just work with me here.) What sucks is when people see me differently just because of this one little thing that is part of my life. When they feel that they have to pity me just because I have to watch what goes on in my body.
I don't like feeling different. I like it when people laugh at the Allergic to Cats on my bracelet rather than make a face that says 'I don't know what to say' at the Type 1 Diabetes that is supposedly more prominent. I like it when people ooh and ahh at the shinyness/name/awesome tunes of Bubbles rather than ask me how much it sucks to have to wear it. I like it when people don't make a big deal (or any deal at all) about the smaller things. I like it when people treat me exactly the same when they find out/remember as they treated me before.
I like being me, and I like being me without having others feeling bad for me. I'm okay with this, I've come to terms with it, so let's all be happy, 'kay?
And sometimes, the kids just don't realize that they're making my day without even trying. Like when the little boy I'm babysitting turns around, tearful, and chokes out a 'I need a cuddle' before burying his face in my shoulder. (I melted.)
Or when he's pointing out all my 'owies', and he doesn't see the poke holes on my fingers or the site scars everywhere.
That made me realize that it's not that big a deal to deal with this. It can be unnoticeable, invisible, unimportant.
A part of me, but never, ever the whole of me.