Disappointed, exhausted, frustrated, overworked, and overwhelmed. Any idiot could clearly see that this was exactly how Janelle felt on account of her new charge, conceived out of drunken desperation. She did her best not to show it, but it was obvious enough to those who knew her.
Steven began spending most of the weekend at his family's house, preferring to be as far away from the child and his wife as possible whenever he could be. Janelle wouldn't go anywhere near the family because she knew they not only wouldn’t accept the child but also didn't want her coming around after the incident with Ramona and the fact that they suspected she was behind Stephanie’s attack.
During one of these visits just days before the child was born, a friend was also visiting that had been a well-respected clinical psychologist for many years. She predicted that within a few months, Janelle would either harm or neglect the child and lose custody if she didn’t give it up on her own.
"From everything you've described and what I've heard on the news and seen in the interviews she's partaken in, she definitely seems to be a very selfish person who lacks empathy and compassion,” said the psychologist during one of their discussions. "I hate to seem rude and disrespectful as I understand she's your wife.”
“No, no, it's no problem at all,” Steven assured her, something Janelle would have given him her evil glare for had she been there. "I agree that you're likely to be right."
"But how do you feel about it? I know your family is a bit concerned about you getting caught up in anything she may do. Do you worry that you may be blamed for anything?"
“Nah, the police know me well, thanks to her. I'm a nice guy and I think they can see that and that I've done everything I can to try and help her.”
"Good, because as unfair as it may be to some people, the law may see your indifference and lack of willingness to intervene in a bad light since the child is innocent, like it or not.”
“That’s okay,” Steven said confidently. "I'll take my chances."
“I think it's important to make it clear to Janelle that she does have the right to give the child up. Instead of harming it, there are others who are willing to take care of it and give it the love it needs."
"Which do you think will happen first?" asked Ramona. “Will she kill it or get rid of it?”
“Well, I sure hope she won't kill the poor thing. I can't say for sure whether or not she'll harm the child in any way, but she does have the classic personality traits that suggest there's a good chance she might based on past behavior. Regardless of that, these are the types of people who get sick of responsibility, especially one as demanding as a child. They get sick of their kids like a kid gets sick of its pet hamster. They thrive on freedom and they want things as easy as possible for them. Just don't expect her to admit the real reason why if she does surrender the child on her own. They usually blame it on something out of their control rather than the real cause."
“Well, of course,” said Ramona as if nothing different could be expected when it came to Janelle.
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Byron and his female friend Ella visited the house from time to time to help whenever possible, knowing full well that Steven wasn't going to. Nor was his wife likely to accept this anytime soon. They were especially helpful when Janelle was spending so much time in bed recovering from her c-section. If it wasn't for them, the child would not have been changed, bathed, or fed unless Steven called Child Services to have it removed and placed into the care of a person or persons that could keep up with it and handle it. Janelle, however, was determined to put her own needs first and sacrifice those of the child.
The thing that got to Janelle the most was its constant wailing. She was soon unable to hide her frustration and annoyance and wrote some chilling thoughts in her journal during the few months that the child was with her.
Because Janelle believed they were “poor,” she never got many of the things a newborn needs, especially since she had no support. Byron and Ella managed to bring a few things to help out but that was it.
The child's “crib” was actually a large cardboard box lined with a piece of foam that Janelle cut the sides out of to look like rails and then decorated in the most immature and insane way. “So it’s made out of cardboard instead of wood. So what? At least he has a place to sleep,” she rationed.
She refused to spend money on a sitter during the few hours she worked insisting that the child couldn't move around on its own yet anyway. During this time, the boy in the box became the boy on the couch. She showed absolute disgust when the child would spit up and when she changed diapers. No one knows for sure whether or not Janelle truly brainwashed herself into believing Steven was helping out and doing his share of things when she was asleep or if she simply chose to act as if he was. Most believed it was likely the latter. But in her determination to carry on her façade of a happy little family, the child developed many rashes due to not being changed often enough and became malnourished due to underfeeding.
Steven did whatever he could think of to try to discourage her from keeping the child such as waking her up due to its constant crying.
“What the fuck can I do that you can't do?!" Janelle screamed furiously, voice cracking with exhaustion. “If you don’t let me sleep, I can’t recover and get back to work and then we won’t have enough money.”
But Steven was hesitant to push Janelle too far and risk getting attacked. He knew his wife's temper. He knew what she was capable of.
A disturbing journal excerpt was discovered in which Janelle wrote:
This kid won't stop screaming. He was screaming and screaming for hours today. I wanted to kill him! It was all I could do to control myself. At one point I deliberately lunged at him as if I was going to harm him when Steven would see me as a test. I wanted to see if he actually gave a shit about this kid and would try to stop me, but what did he do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all. He just sat on his ass and shrugged as if to say go ahead, do what you want. I couldn't care less.
Well, I'm getting to the point where I couldn't care less either!
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