Emmet's doctor regularly pleads with him to at least consider cutting down on the snacking. He is a wombat and should be eating mostly green foods (No, Mr. Underwood, deep fried and chocolate drizzled doesn't count). A sugar addiction is bad enough when you're young, but at Emmet's age his pancreas only has so many miles left on it. In his last abdominal CT scan it was holding up a Help Me sign.

But she doesn't understand! Inventing is hard work that requires both calories and motivation. So what if he's about twice the size of the wombat he used to be. The only thing he can't do anymore is squeeze into tight spaces, and he has an assistant who specializes in exactly that! (At least when his own weight isn't fluctuating.)

Besides, the donut shop has a name that seems specifically tailored for him! If there were an establishment called "Prescription Pastries" then she'd be the one with the "weight problem".

Sketch by  toony tacocat (sketch page it came from is here but I want to be able to reference it separately)