Jelly Roll's wife Bunnie Xo drops bombshell after months of no public outings with singer fuels fan fears
The influencer, 45, revealed on her Dumb Blonde podcast that she had been working on a special project.
'Somebody said the other day, they're like, "They used to always be together. Now you never see them together,"' she shared on Friday's episode.
'I'm like, do you guys not know for the past six months I've been trying to make a baby? Like, my husband has to work to f–king bring home the bacon,' she said.
The social media darling, who has been open about her efforts to become pregnant via in vitro fertilization, got very candid with her audience.
'Luckily, I have the luxury of being able to work at from home,' she explained.
Jelly Roll's wife, Bunnie Xo, has cleared the air about why she hasn't been on the road with the slimmed down hitmaker in recent months; Pictured in Frisco, TX in May
'He doesn't. He has to make appearances,' she told her fans.
'But I literally have been on IVF meds for f–king six months and going through heartbreak and f–king so much s–t.'
On July 26, Bunnie, whose real name is Alyssa DeFord, shared some behind-the-scenes footage from the Lonely Road video shot last year as part of a collaboration with Machine Gun Kelly and his former fiancée Megan Fox.
In the storyline, her and Jelly Roll's characters suffer fertility issues.
The girl right there, holding a paper in her hand about infertility had no idea the battle she would go through a few weeks after...' she wrote over the clip.
'Who knew a year ago, filming this music video was so foreshadowing for all of us,' Bunnie wrote. 'Manifestation in the form of art.'
'My heart is with all the girls battling infertility. There is a rainbow after the rain, I promise,' she concluded.
Fox, 39, apparently became pregnant soon after, giving birth to daughter Saga Blade Fox-Baker on March 26. MGK, whose legal name is Colton Baker r evealed the little one's name in June.
Jelly Roll, whose legal name is Jason Bradley DeFord has two children from previous relationships, Bailee Ann, 16 (seen here,) and Noah, seven; Pictured in Los Angeles in February 2024
Many fans responded to the post sharing their own infertility stories, some successful, some heartbreaking.
One fan suggested Bunnie and Jelly Roll choose another route to parenthood.
'Carrying a baby for someone that couldn't was the most amazing experience I have ever done. It was difficult but worth it,' they wrote.
Jelly Roll, 40, whose legal name is Jason Bradley DeFord has two children from previous relationships, Bailee Ann, 16, and Noah, seven.
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'Damn, I wasn't ready for how this would feel. We didn't have a camcorder, so there's no video of me with my mom … This is how she hugged me. I've rewatched it 50 times,' he wrote. These are just three illustrations of a growing phenomenon of 'digital resurrection' – creating images and bots of people who have died using photographs, videos, voice messages and other material. Companies offering to create 'griefbots' or 'deathbots' abound, and questions about exploitation, privacy and their impact on the grieving process are multiplying. 'It's vastly more technologically possible now because of large language models such as ChatGPT being easily available to the general public and very straightforward to use,' said Elaine Kasket, a London-based cyberpsychologist. 'And these large language models enable the creation of something that feels really plausible and realistic. 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They often dream of the dead, or imagine they glimpse them across a room or in the street. A few even seek contact via seances. 'Human beings have been trying to relate to the dead ever since there were humans,' said Michael Cholbi, a professor of philosophy at the University of Edinburgh and the author of Grief: A Philosophical Guide. 'We have created monuments and memorials, preserved locks of hair, reread letters. Now the question is: does AI have anything to add?' Louise Richardson, of York university's philosophy department and a co-investigator on a four-year project on grief, said bereaved people often sought to 'maintain a sense of connection and closeness' with a dead loved one by visiting their grave, talking to them or touching items that belonged to them. 'Deathbots can serve the same purpose, but they can also be disruptive to the grieving process,' she said. 'They can get in the way of recognising and accommodating what has been lost, because you can interact with a deathbot in an ongoing way.' For example, people often wonder what a dead loved one might have done or said in a specific situation. 'Now it feels like you are able to ask them.' But deathbots may also provide 'sanitised, rosy' representations of a person, said Cholbi. For example, someone creating a deathbot of their late granny may choose not to include her casual racism or other unappealing aspects of her personality in material fed into an AI generator. There is also a risk of creating a dependency in the living person, said Nathan Mladin, the author of AI and the Afterlife, a Theos report published last year. 'Digital necromancy is a deceptive experience. You think you're talking to a person when you're actually talking to a machine. Bereaved people can become dependent on a bot, rather than accepting and healing.' The boom in digital clones of the dead began in the far east. In China, it can cost as little as 20 yuan (£2.20) to create a digital avatar of a loved one, but according to one estimate the market was worth 12bn yuan (£1.2bn) in 2022 and was expected to quadruple by 2025. More advanced, interactive avatars that move and converse with a client can cost thousands of pounds. Fu Shou Yuan International Group, a major funeral operator, has said it is 'possible for the dead to 'come back to life' in the virtual world'. According to the China Funeral Association, the cost is about 50,000 yuan per deceased person. The exploitation of grief for private profit is a risk, according to Cholbi, although he pointed to a long history of mis-selling and upselling in the funeral business. Kasket said another pitfall was privacy and rights to digital remains. 'A person who's dead has no opportunity to consent, no right of reply and no control.' The fraudulent use of digital material to create convincing avatars for financial gain was another concern, she added. Some people have already begun stipulating in their wills that they do not want their digital material to be used after their death. Interactive avatars are not just for the dead. Abba Voyage, a show that features digital versions of the four members of the Swedish pop group performing in their heyday, has been a runaway success, making about £1.6m each week. Audiences thrill – and sing along – to the exhilarating experience while the band's members, now aged between 75 and 80, put their feet up at home. More soberly, the UK's National Holocaust Centre and Museum launched a project in 2016 to capture the voices and images of Holocaust survivors to create interactive avatars capable of answering questions about their experiences in the Nazi death camps long into the future. According to Cholbi, there is an element of 'AI hype' around deathbots. 'I don't doubt that some people are interested in this, and I think it could have some interesting therapeutic applications. It could be something that people haul out periodically – I can imagine they bring out the posthumous avatar of a deceased relative at Christmas dinner or on their birthday. 'But I doubt that people will try to sustain their relationships with the dead through this technology for very long. At some point, I think most of us reconcile ourselves with the fact of death, the fact that the person is dead. 'This isn't to say that some people might really dive into this, but it does seem to be a case where maybe the prospects are not as promising as some of the commercial investors might hope.' For Mladin, the deathbot industry raises profound questions for ethicists and theologians. The interest in digital resurrection may be a consequence of 'traditional religious belief fading, but those deeper longings for transcendence, for life after death, for the permanence of love are redirected towards technological solutions,' he said. 'This is an expression of peak modernity, a belief that technology will conquer death and will give us life everlasting. It's symptomatic of the kind of culture we inhabit now.' Kasket said: 'There's no question in my mind that some people create these kinds of phenomena and utilise them in ways that they find helpful. But what I'm concerned about is the way various services selling these kinds of things are pathologising grief. 'If we lose the ability to cope with grief, or convince ourselves that we're unable to deal with it, we are rendered truly psychologically brittle. It is not a pathology or a disease or a problem for technology to solve. Grief and loss are part of normal human experience.'
