In the winter of 1960, Denise Neville had a beautiful baby boy. He had her soft features; an adorable little nose and pleasant blue eyes. His face was perfectly rounded and he had a full head of dark hair, just like his Momma. She named him Bobby and when he smiled, it made all the nurses in the delivery ward blush. He could’ve been a poster child for Carnation Milk—he was that damn cute.
A few days after the delivery, Denise and her baby Bobby were released from the hospital. All of his vitals were normal including heart rate, reflex, and skin color. He did all the things a newborn did: he slept, he dirtied diapers, and he ate…a lot.
At first Bobby fed from Denise’s breast. He was attached to her nipple every other hour, sucking away at the seemingly endless milk her body produced. She began to feel like a cow after a while, out to pasture reading a romantic-western paperback until the dinner bell rang, or in her case, screamed. Sometimes she couldn’t get to him fast enough and she would start leaking through her top when he cried. Eventually the twelve hours of feeding came to an end because her body could no longer keep up with his hunger—the well ran dry.
Over time Denise became the milk man’s best customer. She resorted to feeding Bobby ten gallons of milk by the glass jug. Sometimes the milk man would drop off a few extra jugs as a courtesy to her business, but it was never enough.
When Bobby’s six month birthday came around, he weighed an incredible fifty four pounds. His body, now a mass of blubbery rolls, was hauled around in a wheelbarrow since he was too fat for the typical stroller. It was as if a litter of shar-pei puppies were nestled together, not an infant child, as she carted him through town. People would turn their heads in disgust at Bobby, whether it was at the supermarket or at the park across the street from their home. They just couldn’t understand how a mother could let her baby get so big! Then again, they didn’t understand his appetite. They weren’t there when he would unleash his painful screams. “Mommy, mommy, I’m hungry, come feed me!” Those screams would bellow from his pot belly while he kicked his powerful legs. It was as if they were mountainous clouds forming above a blanketed town, waiting for the right to moment to unleash their fury.