She Was So Happy When Her Baby Boy Was Born… But Then He Wouldn’t Stop Eating

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Bobby’s weight had gone so out of control that Denise’s brother built him a customary play pen, equipped with a gate which also served as a drawbridge, the entrance to his castle. Denise could then wheel Bobby up the platform and lifting the wheelbarrow with all her might, allow his body to slide down on the blanketed plywood bottom. Ker-plunk! Then he would just lay there cooing and drooling away over the many valleys of his cubby skin. Blinking his bright blue eyes and smiling his toothless grin. Bobby was happy to finally have a part of the home that was just his.

Once Bobby outgrew his cloth bottoms, Denise resorted to diapering him with garbage bags. She would slip the bag over his feet, cut two massive slits out of the bottom so his legs had room to wiggle, and secure the opening with creative knots to keep them sealed.

So on this day it was a particularly warm spring afternoon. Denise and Bobby arrived home after another shameful stroll through the neighborhood. She opened all the windows in her quaint trailer park home and allowed the screen door to welcome in any cooling breeze outside. She released the gate and heaved him into his play pen with the wheelbarrow. His eyes were heavy and he was soon fast asleep.

Tired from hauling her big fat baby around, Denise drew a hot bath to soothe her aching arms and back. She added some bubbles for added comfort and slipped into the steamy water. The heat felt nice against her muscles as she bathed, paying close attention to wash between her toes and underarms. She massaged her feet, then her temples, and opened a book. Not realizing how tired she was, Denise was soon off to dreamland herself.

That familiar “I’m hungry momma!” scream woke Denise. It pierced through her ear canal like a hot needle, puncturing her brain with a sharp incision that struck the middle of her forehead.

In the living area, Bobby was kicking himself off the sides of the play pen, gaining enough momentum to collapse it. Because if Mommy wasn’t coming to him, he was going to her.

The gate fell to the floor and Bobby rolled down his exit ramp, over the second-hand rugs, and through the screen door, propelling his massive weight into the playground. Mothers and children gaped in awe as a pale ball of baby somersaulted past them like a tumbleweed in the old west.

One child lost his attention while pushing his sister on a swing. She smacked into him, his bottom hit the grass. Another little boy fell off the high end of a teeter-totter while a girl in a yellow dress dropped her ice cream cone. She was too amazed to cry over the loss.

“Oh my goodness!” cried a concerned mother. “Who does that baby belong to?”

Denise came running after Bobby, her hair still wet from the bath. She gripped her bath robe tight across her seeping chest, too hurried to tie the cloth strap together.

“Bobby, my sweet baby boy!” Denise said. “Come back to me!”

But Bobby couldn’t stop. He rolled on, just like his Poppa did when he said he was going out to buy a pack of smokes, past the children, past the mothers, past the pond, and into the river behind the park.

Thanks to the excessive gas build up (and his mother’s excellent diaper design) Bobby floated down the running river as if he were on an inflatable raft. He was kicking and screaming, chasing off the reptiles and aquatic life as they fled in terror from the jiggling mass that floated above them.

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