Robbie scooped some of the pot pie onto a plate just as a spoonful of applesauce hit him in the shoulder.
"None of that now!" He scolded as Robert laughed. Not really paying attention, he ended up putting a second scoop of the pie onto his plate before putting it down to dodge another spoonful of applesauce.
"Okay, your dinner time is over!" Robbie chuckled as he dodged a third spoonful. Removing the bowl, he grabbed Robert in one arm and his food in the other, heading out to the living room so he could watch Robert play while he ate.
Normally, he wouldn't dream of eating in the living room. Italia was very particular about keeping the high thread count furniture and carpet clean. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.
Robbie absentmindedly ate the double helping of pot pie while Robert banged at his xylophone with the pyramid block. He didn't notice how much he'd eaten until he brought his fork up to his mouth and found it clean. Oddly, he didn't feel as full as he thought he would, but that sometimes happened with Malcolm's cooking. Not often enough to make him worry until Italia left for her latest film, but it was known to happen. Not full yet, he pulled over the veggie tray that was still on the table and started munching on that, leaving the celery which he had never been a big fan of.
Robert yawned as the clock chimed 8, snapping Robbie out of his stupor. "Looks like it's bedtime," he muttered before groaning as he went to lean forward towards his son, meeting a little resistance from his front. Looking over at the veggie tray, almost everything was eaten and the ranch dip had been scraped from the bowl. Gingerly, he reached down to pick up the toddler. He could actually see a slight bulge through his shirt as he stood up, feeling like the weight of the food was pulling his stomach further down. It was uncomfortable, but like when you stretch, painful, but in the good way.
Heading upstairs, he placed Robert in the crib in his bedroom so he could also take a nap himself. As he drifted off, his hand soothingly moved around his gut.
It was early morning and Robbie was just waking up. Italia wasn't anywhere to be seen but he could smell breakfast cooking. The smells stimulated a primal urge in him, one he reveled in most of the time anymore. It took him several minutes anymore to sit up as his rather large ball gut covered most of his lap before he could even sit up straight. He had to combine that movement with swinging his legs over the edge of the bed in order to not end up pinned down again.
Huffing for breath, sweat already starting to bead on his forehead, he finally managed to stand up. Not for the first time, he was glad Italia still forced him to go to the gym or else he'd already be bed ridden by now. As it was, he was still by far more flab than muscle. This had ended his acting career some time ago, but he was happier than ever, spending time with his son, and he wouldn't have it any other way. He just needed the construction company to hurry up and widen the doors or he'd be getting stuck in them pretty soon. His gut was already rubbing up against the frame when he went through.
"Breakfast Robbie! Bring Robert with you please!" Italia yelled from downstairs.
Every step he took caused the windows to rattle. All the pictures had been removed from the walls almost 200 pounds ago when they started falling off as he walked through the house. In order to pick up Robbie from the crib, he had to turn sideways because he couldn't reach around his gut from straight on.
Robert in his arms, he headed downstairs where Malcolm and Italia had spent the morning making him a mountain of food. The bacon and eggs alone would have fed four grown men, but he'd have that as starters before moving onto the quiche, cinnamon rolls, crepes, and other foods. He was just about to eat his first bite when Robert started crying. Looking over, Robert sat in his high chair, playing with his pancakes, crying for some strange reason. His crying got louder and louder but Italia and Malcolm didn't seem to notice.
Robbie awoke with a start. Robert was crying his crib. Outside the windows, the sky had darkened. He didn't need the lights on to know why his son was crying though. Despite the foul smell, his stomach growled. He'd already eaten a lot tonight, but a little more couldn't hurt, could it? He could lose it later. His dream was on the edge of his conscious, enticing him. He shouldn't want that, but it felt so real, so good.
Finally, as he changed Robert's diaper, he knew what he was going to do.
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