Worth the Wait (Weight)?

Honestly… some days I could cry.

Not out of sadness exactly — just from the sheer weight of it. The way my lower back aches. The way my shoulders feel pulled forward no matter how hard I try to stand tall. It’s not an ache that goes away after a good night’s sleep. It’s a slow, heavy weariness that settles deeper every day, like gravity’s been turned up a notch just for me.

It’s not easy. But somehow… it still feels worth it.

Not everyone in my family agrees.

Not everyone understands why I’m not trying harder to “fix” it.

But I know some of you do. I feel that support, even across screens.

And yeah… sometimes I wish it worked differently.

That the bigger they got, the lighter they’d feel. Like two silly helium balloons bobbing above me, floating happily through life.

But no.

They’re not light.

They’re not buoyant.

They’re dense. Heavy. And only getting heavier.

It’s funny — when y’all first started calling them Hansel and Gretel about a month ago, I laughed. It felt cute. Playful. A little absurd. But the longer I sit with it… the more I realize it’s accidentally the most accurate name anyone’s ever given them.

Because just like those two fairy-tale kids, they’re fattening up for some mysterious journey.

Every week: a little heavier. A little fuller. A little more trouble.

They’re wandering farther off the “path” of my body.

Stretching the seams of every bra.

Straining every strap.

Leaving permanent creases in the shoulders of every top.

And when I lean forward? They rest heavier and heavier against the table, like they’ve decided the journey’s too long and they need a nap.

Every time I set them down — on a desk, a countertop, my laptop, even across the arms of a chair — just to take the pressure off my back for a blessed few minutes — I see it. I see how much they’ve grown.

They spread wider now.

Softer. Fatter. Heavier.

Every time they puddle and spill across a surface, they claim more space than they did last month. And the month before that.

They’re blobs.

Bloobs? (Please don’t let that catch on.) 😬

It’s practical, sure — letting them rest keeps my back from screaming. But it’s also… humbling. Watching them flatten and flow and ooze gently over the table’s edge, like two oversized bread doughs rising beyond their pan.

They leave their mark.

They leave their trail.

And now that summer’s coming, and the heat’s back, sometimes they even leave their own… well…

Let’s call it a slug trail.

Gross, I know. But real.

And just like Hansel and Gretel leaving breadcrumbs… my trail isn’t something I can follow back home. There’s no going back to smaller. To easier. To “normal.”

There’s just… more.

More softness.

More heaviness.

Boobier. (Is that a word? It is now.)

More of me than I can carry alone — unless I learn to share the load with every flat surface I meet.

I’m embarrassed, yeah. Every time I see them puddled over a table like that, spreading out bigger than I imagined, I feel it — the awkwardness, the absurdity. But I also feel… relief. Like for just those few minutes, the burden isn’t mine alone.

Hansel and Gretel are fattening up for some big journey. I don’t know where they’re headed.

But I know I’m coming with them.

And I know… some of y’all?

Some of y’all feel a little like the witch in the story. Fatting them up on purpose. Watching, cheering them on, fascinated by how much more they can take.

But honestly? I can’t even be mad about it.

I’ve turned this strange, surreal condition into my own little sideshow. And you’ve been here every step, breadcrumb by breadcrumb.

Oh — the photo today? It actually came from a commission someone requested. They wanted to see what it looks like when I lay them across the table. Something I do often anyway.

(No, still not doing nudes. But soft, silly moments like this? This I can share.)

Thanks for watching Hansel and Gretel grow with me.

Thanks for helping me carry them.

Even when they refuse to stay small.

—Plushy