Frankie Foster just wanted a little snack break—maybe some cookies, a glass of milk, nothing too crazy. But one bite turned into twenty, and now she’s sprawled on the floor, gasping and rubbing a belly that’s clearly taken most of the damage (and dessert).

Her shirt’s riding up, her pants gave up long ago, and there’s no denying it: she’s stuffed to the max and still puffing like she might pop.

The Foster’s house might be chaotic, but nothing could’ve prepared it for this level of cookie-induced inflation.