August 15th
It’s been three months since I found out I had Super Puberty, and I don’t even know where to start because…
I AM HUGE.
Like, I’m not even exaggerating. I have grown so much that I barely recognize myself anymore. I measured myself this morning, and guess what? I’m 5’7.
Yeah. FIVE-SEVEN.
In March, I was 3’8. Now, in August, I’m almost a foot taller than Mom. And Hillary? She’s completely lost it. She’s still stuck at 4’6, which means I tower over her now. I never thought I’d see the day when I’d have to look down at her, but here we are. The “big little sister” act? Over.
She’s been pouting about it for weeks. Every time she sees me, she just groans and goes, “This is so unfair.” Welcome to my world, Hillary.
But it’s not just my height. Everything has changed.
My arms and legs are longer, my hands and feet are bigger (I had to buy all new shoes, and I went from a size 4 to a size 9—WHAT?!), and my whole body looks… different. More grown-up.
And then there’s my chest.
Yeah. That happened fast.
A few months ago, I barely had anything. Now? I had to go bra shopping again because I officially outgrew my B-cup bras. I’m now a C-cup. And honestly? It’s so weird. Like, I spent years wishing I’d develop, and now I suddenly have actual boobs. I can’t even wear my old shirts because they’re too tight. Even my posture feels different—like, I’m aware of them now.
Mom keeps saying, “You’re filling out nicely,” and while that’s great and all, it’s also a lot to get used to. Before, I was just tiny all over. Now, I actually have curves. My hips got wider, my waist got more defined, and let’s just say… I do not look like a little kid anymore.
Dad, on the other hand? He’s struggling. Every time he sees me, he looks shocked. Yesterday, he literally muttered, “My daughter turned into a supermodel overnight.” He’s been extra awkward, like he doesn’t know how to handle the fact that I’m suddenly a giant with an actual figure. It’s hilarious and kind of adorable.
And Hillary? Oh, she’s beyond jealous.
She was the “older-looking” one for so long, and now I’ve completely passed her. Not just in height, but in everything. She still looks like a 12-year-old, and I… well, I definitely don’t. The other day, someone mistook me for an 18-year-old. EIGHTEEN. I was dying.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t loving this. After years of being the small one, the late bloomer, the one who got teased for looking like a little kid—I am finally the tall, grown-looking one.
I don’t know when this will stop. I might keep growing, or I might be close to my final height. Either way? I feel amazing.
And Hillary? She just has to deal with it.
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