*child's play.

I quite like other people's children. Not strangers' children, mind you—I rather dislike children I don't know, with their screeching and their boundary-less existence and their insistence that I find them cute.

Maybe we have too much in common.

Children I know have quiet souls and lots to say and hooboy eyes like this.



Or good Lord, like this.



Children are rank tattletales, and they will expose their parents' frailties without provocation.



For the grown-up tattletale, this is a terrific source of amusement.



Other people's kids will grin widely at you when you come through the door and climb enthusiastically into your lap and let you wrestle tiny burps out of them that feel like gold-medal moments.



For the childless, this is a terrific source of puffed-up pride.



Sure, kids are funny, with their unabashed innocence and utter disregard for modesty and plucky un-self-awareness.



But the best part about other people's kids is that they think you are HILARIOUS.



And the validation of a tiny brain is pretty much all I need.