I put the two year old on the potty. She peed. I showered her with impressed praise.
I put the two year old on the potty again. She peed again. She returned to the living room with panties and shorts. They were still dry. I was very proud of her, and my voice, filled with praise soared. "Good job! Way to go girl! I'm so happy for you!"
Coras face glowed. She bounced. We clapped for her. She turned to Dad. He mustered up a bit of praise himself, and topped it off with a sweaty hug. Potty training involves the repetition of this cycle and an Atlas like effort NOT to be disappointed or upset at the little oopses along the way.
"Did you mow just the front?" I asked my husband. He was outside only through one potty cycle, and it did not seem like a lot of time passed.
"No the whole yard." he said.
Preprogrammed, my mouth burst fourth with the loving adoration only a parent desperate to rid themselves of one set of diapers can muster. "Good Job! Oh, I'm SOOOO happy..."
Cora recognizing the sounds began clapping for her Dad. He turned his head slowly from her to me. "You're weird." he said.
I've just stumbled upon one of the dangers of potty training. My mouth thinks its a cheerleader squad for the world. I will be worried when it starts using pompoms.