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Ask my wife and she'll tell you that since we had a child, I've turned into something of a total suck. I find that I've become much more emotional in general, and that I have gained a much deeper empathy for the hardships of other people. Sure, I still get a little grumpy from time to time, and any trip to No Frills is bound to bring out my inner Oscar the Grouch, but for the most part, I've become much more sensitive and caring. I even get a little teary-eyed watching things like mushy TV commercials for house insurance or the wedding episode of the Office, but I'm going to chalk that up to Bisphenol A leeching and/or advances in subliminal advertising.

Despite all of this emotional enlightenment, what I can't account for is the fact that I've become totally smug and judgmental when it come to observing other parents. Wow, I'd never let my son do that. That kid is way too old for a stroller. Is there a reason why you let your daughter play in the street without any shoes on? Why in the name of all that is holy does your child have a rat-tail!?

They say that you're not supposed to judge a person until you've walked a mile in their shoes, especially if that person is also carrying a diaper bag, pushing a stroller, and tending to a wailing infant. Let me just say that I've walked many, many miles in those shoes, carried that diaper bag, pushed that stroller and tended to that wailing infant. Doesn't that entitle me to a little bit of parental peer judgment now and then? Two recent experiences make me wonder if that's really true after all.

I had scored some rare toddler-free time, so I hopped on a crosstown streetcar with the sole intention of wandering around aimlessly, sans stroller or diaper bag. Up near the middle doors, a woman in her mid-twenties was sitting with her daughter, who looked to be about a year and a half. The girl seemed happy enough, despite being strapped into one of those enormous metal frame backpack baby carriers.

I don't understand why anyone would ever choose to wear one of those things. I'm sure the manufacturer strongly denies this, but those types of carriers must place a serious amount of stress on your back and legs, not to mention dangerously limit your speed and range of motion. Do you think that you could jump out of the way of a speeding car with a 40 lb weight bearing directly down on your shoulders?

Mobility issues aside, how exactly do you care for your child when she's strapped in behind you, out of reach and out of sight? Have you ever tried to get something out of your backpack while wearing it? And how would you know if your child has dropped a glove, or has been scratched by a low-hanging branch or is just about to let drop a massive loogie right between your shoulder blades? What if you're on some urban expedition and your child suddenly becomes violently ill and requires immediate attention? You'd have to kneel down slowly and gently, and then twist around to get your arms free from the straps while somehow keeping this awkward and heavy framework in an upright position, and only then could you see what's wrong with your child.

This young mother in question had her backpack baby propped up on the seat next to her and both appeared to be enjoying the ride. The woman was munching away on some puff cookies out of a plastic bag, which of course prompted her daughter to make grabbing motions with her pudgy little fingers. The mother let the baby pluck one of the cookies from the bag, and as she brought it up to her mouth, those pudgy little fingers closed in on the puff, instantly pulverizing it into a fine yellow mist, which then rained down on the baby and the seat. The poor little girl silently considered her crumb-encrusted hand for a moment and then slowly raised her head to look at her mother with equal parts shock and betrayal. Then, she began to cry, loudly and incessantly.

With each successive stop, I became more and more upset at this woman and her inability to soothe her child. What exactly was she thinking when she offered her child that cookie? Even setting aside the nutritional argument, it was a pretty stupid thing to do. A puff cookie consists mainly of sugar and flour, and it disintegrates pretty much the second it enters your mouth. What chance did she think it would have in the hands of a typical toddler, an untamed creature known primarily for its ravenous appetite and poor gross motor skills? Not only did this amateur parent open herself up to a possible $350 fine for littering on the TTC, but she totally upset her daughter, who now had yellow icing sugar clinging to the slowly congealing streams of mucus oozing down her upper lip, and she pretty much ruined the day for an entire streetcar of relatively innocent passengers.

I silently fumed the rest of the trip, imagining how I would have handled it. I would have prepared a much more nutritious snack that my son and I would have politely shared as we quietly discussed the news of the day and observed points of interest along the streetcar route. Other parents would look at me in envy, strangers would whisper between each other about our cordial and genteel manners, and when my son and I rose at hearing our stop being called, the entire streetcar would break out into spontaneous applause.

But the more I thought about it, the more I felt like a big jerk. I was ashamed at how quickly my passive observation had turned to outright scorn. What right did I have to be that condescending? My child isn't perfect, I'll admit that, and I'm well aware that my usually solid parental skills deteriorate quickly in the face of a crying, challenging toddler meltdown. Why couldn't I cut the woman some slack and be thankful that it wasn't me struggling with a sugar and snot covered infant in a backpack?

A few weeks later, I was on the same streetcar route and I noticed a toddler-age boy sitting in an umbrella stroller with a glum look on his face. At first I thought that he was simply bored, but then I noticed that his mother seemed to be deliberately ignoring him. She was sitting with her body turned away from the boy and her head resting against the window.

The little boy moaned a little bit, put his hand on her knee and then tugged at her pantleg, but the woman didn't respond. The boy's moaning grew louder and sharper, and the pantleg tugging more forceful, but still the woman would not respond. I started to feel a little anxious for the boy. Why wouldn't she even look at the boy? This continued for a stop or two, and soon a couple other riders took notice of the sad little boy. His whimpering was getting louder and more insistant, and he was finally rewarded when his mother grabbed one of the stroller handles and half-heartedly gave it a shake. This calmed the boy for a moment, but when she took her hand away, he began to cry again. By this point, half the streetcar was watching this slow motion drama unfold and I felt terrible for the boy. The woman finally turned around and sharply scolded him in a language that I did not understand. When the boy started openly crying, the woman grabbed the sides of the stroller and loudly banged it up and down a few times, to the shock of everyone watching.

After a few tense minutes, she finally unbuckled the boy and dragged him up onto her lap. He instantly became quiet and the entire streetcar sighed in relief. It was shortlived, however, because a moment later she dumped him back into the stroller and turned toward the window again. The poor little guy continued crying until they finally reached their stop and got off the streetcar. I could hear other riders whispering to each other about what they had just seen.

I honestly don't think I've ever seen such a display of general negligence before. I've seen parents do and say horrible things to their children in public, but I don't think I've ever seen anyone ignore their child that way. The whole episode kept playing in my head for a couple of days afterward and I got angry at the woman every time. Was that an example of child abuse, or was I overreacting to something that I shouldn't be sticking my upturned nose into?

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that as upsetting as I found that episode, I didn't have enough information to really make any judgment, or indeed, any right to. It is very possible that the woman was suffering from post-partum depression and was in fact fighting with herself to reach out to the child. Maybe she was dealing with some other overwhelming personal or medical issue that was preventing her from devoting her attention to the boy. I started to feel ashamed with myself that I jumped to a negative conclusion, and that I hadn't considered these possibilities at the time, when I could have perhaps made an effort to see if the woman was all right or needed some help.

Who knows, maybe I totally misread the situation and the kid was actually something out of the Omen or Rosemary's Baby. I guess need a little more practice in balancing my two emotional states: sappy, empathetic, multiple tissue-user on one side and crotchety fly-off-the-handle Andy Rooney on the other. That's got to be a step in the right direction. After all, I doubt that Andy Rooney's ever changed a diaper in his life, unless it was his own.