Wednesday, November 4, 2015

BM I don't want to hear it!

BMI.
It stands for Body Mass Index, but really it could stand for "Bain of My Existence." Yes yes, I know that's an "E" and not an "I", but you try finding a synonym for existence that starts with an "I".

I could go into the fallacy of the BMI system for measuring one's health, but your attention span is likely not that long. Suffice it to say that under BMI, Arnold Schwarzenegger is considered morbidly obese. Yeah. It's a flawed system.

Anyway, to be a surrogate you have to be beneath a certain BMI. Multitude of reasons for it, most of them legit, but still annoying. Growing Generations, my agency, has an upper limit of a 33.9 BMI.

This has never really been a concern for me. On the day I gave birth to 8.8 pound Eleanor I had a 36 BMI... and by 2 weeks post partum I was down to 32. My normal healthy self tends to hang out around 28 or 29. I'm not a beanpole, but I'm usually out of the area of concern for BMI.

Until today.

So there I was, sitting at the pizza hut lunch buffet gleefully munching of a stack of cinnamon sticks dipped in icing when my phone goes "Chirp Chirp" and says, "Hey Mandy, are you just fat, or too fat, you big fat fatty?"

Ok, so it didn't say that exactly. Instead it told me that the new couple we've chosen to work with are using a doctor who has BMI requirements that are much more strict that that of Growing Generations. They won't take surrogates with anything above a 30 BMI.

So, I put the carb saturated goodness down...slowly...with a touch of longing and a twinge of sadness.

I'm still OK to proceed, my BMI is a 29 right now, but now I have to be mindful of my food, and maybe try to knock another 5 pounds off or so, just for good measure.

Ironic isn't it? That I have to watch my weight and keep it low... in order to qualify to gain a whole bunch of weight?

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