The good.

As a sit in my idling car outside a small grocery store, a mom walks her crying toddler up to the entrance.  The daughter, held tightly by her left hand, is old enough to walk and old enough to throw a temper tantrum.  She is doing both with abandon.

A second mother, also accompanying her small child then exit the grocery. It's clear that these relatively new mothers know each other. They begin a conversation miles above the still-crying girl and the young boy who exchange glances a foot or two above the pavement.  Without prompt, the boy drops his mother's hand and takes two wobbly but direct steps toward the girl. He wraps his arms around her for no other reason than because she is crying.

Pictured: A reasonable facsimile of the event that transpired

The bad.

I am now two blocks from this #HugLife.  I turn onto a side street behind a light blue hatchback. Coming towards us on the nearside sidewalk is some sort of baby/mothers' group.  There are about 7-10 women with strollers or slings, traveling together as a baby moving caravan.

One woman, clearly pregnant, was straggling behind.  This lady chose to forgo the sidewalk in favor of navigating the uneven pavement of the street itself while sporting moderate heals.  Between her shoes, the decaying pavement, and the 7 or 8 month yr old fetus -- her steps brought back memories of drunk girls in ultra short dresses and high heals stumbling out of da club.  Come to think of it -- her gait was uncannily similar to the crying toddlers back at the grocery store.

With an unlit cigarette dangling from her lips and her lighter-hand flailing to help her keep her balance, this mother-to-be tightroped her way up the street, against traffic.  The light blue hatchback in front of me was unimpressed. This car demanded its full measure of the road and swerved TOWARD the already fumbling pregnant woman whilst laying on the horn.

"There's no place like home . . . there's no place like home . . ."

As you might imagine, Ms. 8 months and counting didn't appreciate this super-aggro move, nor was she afraid to express her displeasure. And as much as the nicotine stick hanging from her lips made me want to hate her, I couldn't blame any member of a baby caravan for taking exception to being targeted by a motor vehicle.

She slapped that shit out of the back of that car.  "What the fuck are you thinking!?!,"  she continued to swear as loudly as she could without dislodging the cigarette from her bottom lip.

It was a roadside rumble of regression. Another war with no real winner.