I constantly am reminded why I like working at the high school and why I want to be a YA librarian. For all their hormones and moodiness and cocky attitudes, I can successfully relate to teenagers on a pseudo-adult level. I basically treat them as adults unless they demonstrate that they don't deserve that kind of treatment. And usually, that's enough to clue them into the fact that they need to knock off whatever stupidity they are currently engaged it (note that I said usually - often, teenagers are just little goobers no matter what you do. That's when you send them to the principal's office).
Small children, on the other hand (and by "small," I mean anything younger than 13 - the generally accepted elementary school age group) are the nastiest little punks known in the world. Especially in large numbers (say, more than four or five). They aren't capable of listening and comprehending that the adult in the room actually wants them to stop throwing pudding at the walls (sometimes, it's worse than pudding). Two-year-olds are the worst because they still have that "I'm so cute" aura about them, but they are about as cuddly as the Rancor in "Return of the Jedi" (you know - that monster that Jabba the Hutt had in his basement. The one that almost ate Luke. The one that one Fat Man cried over when Luke killed it). Honestly, "two-year-old" is merely a euphemism for "Emissary of Hell." I make it a policy to never deal with these people (that is usually reserved for people who are physically older but still act like this - not because of any medical thing, just because they're immature twerps. That's another post).
That being said, I have to admit that I don't mind children in small doses (sometimes). To be fair, I do derive great enjoyment out of my little cousins and the children of various friends and family members. But the thing that works in these instances is that these kids belong to other people. When I'm dealing with other people's kids, I am well within my rights to pawn off the little yard ape onto their parents when the kids become a threat to my temper and my sanity. And I don't mind baby-sitting (especially if I'm being paid for my efforts). I just don't want any little terrors of my own.
I'm not disparaging people who have small kids. If there were no small kids, there would never be any big kids which means there would never be any adult kids. I am very happy that my parents, at least, decided to have kids. I'm looking forward to my siblings someday having kids (if they so choose) and my becoming an aunt. I actually want to the "Fun Aunt." But I'd go completely nuts if I had a child and I couldn't get away from it.
UPDATE: Item #6 on this list pretty much sums it up.