42.6

She weighs 42.6 pounds.  She went for her well-check appointment. (Under protest, as she recognized the room as soon as we headed down the hallway and she pushed against the door casing with all of her strength.  She's a smart girl and she remembers that needles are often involved when she enters that room.)  The nurse weighed her.

42.6 pounds.

No wonder my back hurts.  No wonder I'm out of breath just lifting her from the floor and carrying her sleeping body upstairs at night.  My baby girl is a big girl now.

And I wonder.  What is the magic number?  What will be the tipping point on the scale that prevents me from lifting her, from carrying her, from having her melt into my body so perfectly with her head on my shoulder, her legs wrapped around me, and her arms tucked in between us?

She had a meltdown a few minutes ago.  Out-of-the-blue, no rhyme or reason, meltdown.  Screaming, shrieking, tears, pinching, head-banging.

And for the first time, she bit me.  She's tried a few times in the last couple of months to bite when we're holding her arms, trying to prevent her from pinching.  She succeeded tonight and bit my arm. 

I have no idea what set her off.  If you look at her now, less than 30 minutes later, you wouldn't believe she was inconsolable such a short time ago.  She's singing and exploring, happy as can be. 

And I'm left with more than a bite mark on my arm.  My heart aches.  I'm wondering.  What's the magic number?  What will be the tipping point on the scale that prevents me from holding her when she's upset?  What will I do when I can't keep her from hurting others and herself?

God, I need strength.  In so many ways...