Today is Women Crush Wednesday at EverythingShaquana. That means it’s all things women, over herr. Now, let’s just say for the record, that not all women desire and/ or attain the physical ability to get pregnant. In any regard though, all women, in the true essence of the feminine energy authenticated by Spirit’s nature, hold the secret formula to human existence.

Whether, it be through their nurture or nature, albeit a women’s womb and/ or a women’s warmth.

I’m not even gonna pretend to go anymore into that. Let’s just keep it simple here, on EverythingShaquana today. I am a woman and I am also a pregnant person. So, today’s #WCW post is dedicated toward pregnancy and all its wonder.


“There’s just, so damn much that goes into creating and sustaining a life, it’s endless.”


To say that bringing a child into the world is a miracle, is growing to seemingly be much more than an understatement. The day in and day out task of sustaining a life, is a wonder. I am in such awe that humans and other living animals, are actually granted with such a great responsibility. We’re just so ordinary, in so many senses of the word. All the while though, we’re also quite extraordinary. It’s wild!

There’s just, so damn much that goes into creating and sustaining a life, it’s endless. I am working 24/7 to keep this pregnancy as healthy, as possible. It’s never ending work. Moreover, this is only the tip of the iceberg. It all gets much more time-consuming and powerfully demanding, when she finally arrives. I know any mothers or folks who have given birth to and/ or raised a child, who are reading this right now, are saying to themselves, “Duh!” That’s the thing, though. It’s not duh!

I believe my mother emphasized the sacrifices she made, to bring and keep me in the world, only in theory. She never really took the time, or any other mother I’ve ever met for that matter, to truly help me understand what it takes to sustain a life. That shit is real! Sustaining life does not end with pregnancy. That is just the beginning. Hence, the hurting mothers everywhere, who feel they couldn’t sustain their children’s lives longer or better, before God called their little ones home.


“People can easily take life for granted, if they are not grounded in the full understanding, honor and appreciation of what it takes to create and sustain a life.”


This motherhood thing, this parenthood thing, is a lifetime job, that has no days off. That concept, in and of itself, is not, in any way possible, translated enough in this world and society we live in. People don’t honor the art of pregnancy and motherhood far enough, in the Western world in general, and in America, most especially. That’s why society has run a muck, they way it has these days. People can easily take life for granted, if they are not grounded in the full understanding, honor and appreciation of what it takes to create and sustain a life.

I use myself, as my prime example. I don’t believe I ever fully took time to consider the powerful impact of energies and thoughts, on the ability of one to sustain a pregnancy. I took for granted that when a person is pregnant, and particularly optimistic about the life they’ve been chosen to bring into the world, that the surrounding world would automatically be supportive. I took for granted the positive thoughts, I assumed to be available, to new and continuing mothers and persons carrying life within them. I took for granted that everyone not only loved, but graciously welcomed the prospect of new life.

I am not sure if the world we live in, is a remnant of what always was, to some extent or another. All I know is that, it is starkly amazing to me how anti life, people have become. The world, and far too many people in it, could care less about the prospect of new life. For goodness sake! Most people appear to be mad about new life. I know I’ve written a little about how upset the world is about my pregnancy, before. But, I will retract my earlier selfishness. I was way too caught up, thinking it was all about me. I was taking everything, far too personal.


“My willingness to live like that, foster thoughts like that or be surrounded by people and energy that lives like that, died.”


In general, the disregard and disrespect for women’s lives appears to be higher and more blatant, when a woman is pregnant, as opposed to the opposite. Let me just say for the record, I am beyond a positive optimist. I am what many people might call a naive, gullible, nuance of a creature. I am what opportunists and manipulative minded folks live to come by, for the purpose of wanting to capitalize off of me. Now, of course in reality, this all goes haywire, when the predator of a lioness, comes to show. Nonetheless, my most dominantly revealed spirit, is in essence, a firm believer in all things beautiful.

I live to consider and relish in all of the possibilities for good, excellence and positive outcomes. I have been to the dark side, far too many times. I’ve lived and even birthed life, in the depths of negativity and pessimism. I’ve danced on the darkest corners of what isn’t, what can’t, what won’t, and what don’t. I hated it. It’s so against my innate nature, it’s not funny. Seriously! That’s why I’ve struggled with so many suicidal, and honestly, even homicidal thoughts in the past.

I can’t live or let live, if my world is dark. I can’t live in a world operated on the outlook where darkness is, ‘ just the way it is’ and ‘just the way it’s going to be.’ That so does not work for Shaquana Gardner. Truth! I refuse! Something must die, when I live in that kind of world. By God’s good grace, something did die. And it wasn’t me or another person, by my hand. Thank you Lord! My willingness to live like that, foster thoughts like that or be surrounded by people and energy that lives like that, died. And in return, the true essence of Shaquana, the God-given beauty to the world, was reborn.


“There’s no way it made sense for me to lie into myself, that people honored the art of pregnancy. The art of the Godly powers, human potions and feminine poise that go into creating, sustaining and nurturing a life.”


That’s what the art of pregnancy is all about to me. It’s about the prospect of what can be. What is. What will. What has. What lives and lets live. It was my greatest mistake to assume that, the rest of the world adhered to the honor of such an art. Which, now as I write this, doesn’t really make any sense. Hence, my naive, gullible nuance of a creature self. There’s no way it made sense for me to lie into myself, that people honored the art of pregnancy. The art of the Godly powers, human potions and feminine poise that go into creating, sustaining and nurturing a life.

The way people treat and regard women, generally, should’ve been a hint. Moreover, the way people view and regard children in this society as we know it, is evidence alone for why there’s no reason to believe people in this world, honor the art of pregnancy. The medical community’s perversion of God’s greatest gift, is another example, in and of itself, of evidence that pregnancy is not viewed as an art. These are a few things, that I have much intention to write about more in-depth, in the future. But yea, I just had to check myself and my made up fantasy about pregnancy and its regard in this wicked world, right quick. Haha! I’m a hot mess, y’all!

No wonder, I’ve been having such a hard time dealing with the hate, negativity and blatant disrespect of my child-to-be, that I’ve been experiencing. I’m too busy living in my own delusional world, to take note of the realistic understandings of what to “expect” and accept from the world that I actually live in. SMH. That means, ‘shaking my head,’ for folks who don’t know. I’m just too much to handle, for my own self. I sometimes truly, just can’t deal with the beautiful mess of a person that is, Everything Shaquana. No lie.


“People have no idea what to do with me, if I am not serving their needs.”


So, here’s the dealio. My family straight up ignores my pregnancy. They just act like it doesn’t exist. No one ever asks me how the baby is doing. No one wants to rub my belly, let alone by back. No one wants to help me get food, as I don’t have any supplemental assistance programs helping me, right now. No one even asks me, if or how I am eating or getting by. No one wants to help me plan out my delivery, let alone the life after, though it’s less than 3 months away. I mean, unless I have something to offer anyone biologically related to me, I am invisible.

My mom, is a little different. She pretty much ignores my pregnancy for the most part. But, she also thinks of me and the baby, at the same time. It’s difficult to explain. She used to ask silly questions like, “why is your back hurting?” As if, she didn’t know I was pregnant. Now that my belly is growing and becoming more noticeable, she just says negative stuff like, “you’re not eating enough.” Or, “you’re not gaining enough weight.” Knowing damn well, there’s barely any food to eat. And more importantly, that I’m new to most of this, and extremely emotional and sensitive right now, so I could use more support and less criticism.

Yet, she’s there for me, ya know. She loves me and my butterbean. She just shows it in her very confusing, human-based way. Particularly though, I think it has a lot to do with what I have to offer. It has everything to do with me not being for other people’s consumption. People have no idea what to do with me, if I am not serving their needs. The further I get into this pregnancy, the less patience and tolerance I have for such attitudes and behaviors. Hence, I get ignored a lot.


“The naive aspect of my spirit, compacted with my loving nature, confuses people into believing that I am nice, care about their feelings and/ or won’t say something that will likely hurt their feelings.”


The rest of the world is much the same. I don’t really see many people, on a daily basis. I mean, being in a city with 8 million plus humans, I see people all the damn time. But, I don’t interact with many people. It’s no accident, either. People are rude and nasty. Especially in New York. They stare at my belly, and intentionally skip the bathroom line. Dumb stuff like that.

When I chat it up with a homie or two, I get a congrats here and there, but nothing more. Except for the ever consistent, ‘you don’t look big enough to be [insert month here].’ This is usually followed by a comparison to every other pregnancy in the world, that is not my own. I know these issues are not unique to me, whatsoever. It’s one of those things pregnant people are just supposed, to understand. I just… I’m not the person for this type of foolishness.

I mean, I think people really think that I am nice, or something like that. Nice, meaning, a person who does stuff for the sake of pleasing others. I’m really not nice. At all, at all. I am kind, thoughtful and compassionate. Nice, not so much. And, I am completely okay with that. The naive aspect of my spirit, compacted with my loving nature, confuses people into believing that I am nice, care about their feelings and/ or won’t say something that will likely hurt their feelings.


“Pregnancy, in all its beautiful art, is teaching me much more about femininity, than any experience as a “girl” or “woman” has ever done so before.”


Remember, they’re your feelings. That has nothing to do with me. As, my feelings have nothing to do with you, or the rest of the world, for that matter. Hence, people saying dumb shit to me, all the damn time, thinking I have the patience, time and/ or tolerance for their fuckery. Excuse my language, but I feel quite poised on this platform, that is my own of course, to be as authentic and genuine as possible, about my feelings right now. Being that, those feelings are my own, and what not.

I think, that’s what I’m struggling with. I’m not a nice person. And I am a masculine as crap, wrapped in a “female” body, by the way. I’m not even, all that feminine. I am learning to master the art of feminine power and poise. Pregnancy, in all its beautiful art, is teaching me much more about femininity, than any experience as a “girl” or “woman” has ever done so before. Nonetheless, I am still learning. So, my knee jerk reaction to people’s nasty ass attitudes and rude ass behavior, is to send it right back their way. Usually, in the most masculine way possible.

I am still learning the “feminine way” to handle things, though. I realize I can’t go around cursing people out all the time, albeit through my actions and not through words. That’s not becoming of a new mom in action. But dude! Lemme tell you. If people could read my mind! Boy! They’d be sorry they ever looked at my belly with disgust in their eyes, or told me how small I was, for the mother-fudging umpteenth time!


“Because, I’ve learned all too well, by nature, people are not that considerate or thoughtful. Let alone, free with sharing good “advice.” Especially, not with me.”


Which kinda, moves me to the next thing, that I get the most, so to speak. Folks keep telling me, ‘make sure you remember, it’s two of you now.’ And, ‘remember, you’re eating for two, now.’ Stuff like that. You know at first, I took this as a kind of compliment. I love advice and considerable knowledge, that is freely shared with me. I’ve been struggling, greatly if you ask me, to fully incorporate the attitude of a person who is now living for two, into my every move and thought.

I suppose, this too, is something very common for any new parent. Man or woman. Pregnant or not. Yet, me being the harsh self critic that I tend to be, it comes off as another failure of mine, more often than not. In any regard, every time someone reminds me to, ‘remember, you’re living, eating, breathing’ and anything else, for two now, I naturally take it in kind regard, because I am actually working to remember this.

The issue I am now having with this “advice,” is the issue I begin to have with all “advice” that I receive over, and over, and over. I have to question its authenticity. Because, I’ve learned all too well, by nature, people are not that considerate or thoughtful. Let alone, free with sharing good “advice.” Especially, not with me.


“If someone is throwing shade my way, by reminding me “to think for two,” I need to make note of such energy.”


Now, that doesn’t mean, I don’t need to, and/ or will continue to, take heed and humble myself before the words of advice I’m being given. At the end of the day, Spirit works through any and everyone, to give messages that we need for our daily spiritual nourishment. I need this message. No matter, who it comes from. Or why, for that matter.

That does not mean, however, I don’t need to make a mental or even, a verbal check of who sends the message. If someone is throwing shade my way, by reminding me “to think for two,” I need to make note of such energy. Because, they’re not authentic. They’re aiming to send bad energy my way, usually as a means of projecting their own inability to “think” for two, three, or four, etc. I won’t pretend to want to explain the power and necessity of authenticating messages sent through people, via Spirit, right now. I’ll do that, some other time.

The point is, people are haters. And that does matter. It don’t do me, nor my child-to-be, any good, to reinforce that silly naive nature of mine, onto my acceptance of “advice” from people who truly to share hate, not love. I can take the message in passing, but counting that person as a support system, per se, is a big no, no! Being that, I am in fact, seeking out fundamental support systems. You know, those who will be my “brother’s and sister’s keeper” type support systems. I need to be able to, dutifully take note of where folks are coming from, with the messages they choose to send and share with me.


“Until anyone else truly becomes responsible for the task of deciding who comes and goes in this life, in the words of the rapper, Faboulous,  “they’re opinions are like a**holes, so who gives a sh*t.'”


For instance, a whole lot of folks would love to remind me of how small I am, for a person who is 6 months pregnant. Many others, would love to throw shade about whether or not I am eating enough. But how many will offer to help me get more food, if I need some. How many will continue to offer food, for the duration of my need for their help. A pregnancy is 9 months long, last time I checked. Moreover, how many will share positive messages and “advice” with me.

Or consider, how many people will make note to me, of the very known fact that, every pregnant person carries their pregnancy different. People who have been pregnant, and even given birth to multiple babies, will testify that they’ve carried all of them differently, one way or another. Furthermore, whether I am too small or too big for anyone else’s consideration, other than God’s, is neither here nor there. Until anyone else truly becomes responsible for the task of deciding who comes and goes in this life, in the words of the rapper, Faboulous,  “they’re opinions are like a**holes, so who gives a sh*t.”

I am grateful, beyond God’s loving sight, for folks who have helped me eat at one point on another, throughout this pregnancy. Nonetheless, helping me once, does not count you in as my sister’s or brother’s keeper. You feel me? I will accept blessings, no matter what the true intention for offering them, in the name and keepsake of my child’s interest. I will not, however, pretend people are offering in love, or blessed and continual support, when it’s really for ego. I am learning to master the art of humility, with this pregnancy. That does not hinder my already mastered understanding of, human vs. spiritual intention and purpose. Like I said, I am not for folks consumption.


“There is a special art to pregnancy.”


I won’t allow people to “bless” me with, material blessings like food or surface verbal support, only to come back asking for much more arduous blessings like, friendship, companionship, emotional and spiritual support. That don’t add up, one bit. More importantly, anything I offer to anyone, that can and should first go to my child, is out of the question. Thus, I demand mutually beneficial relationships. Otherwise, my child loses out. And that’s not gonna pass with me, or my butterbean. Though, she isn’t even here yet, she’s a feisty and territorial little thing, if I’ve ever known such a person. And BaBa don’t play that! Ja heard?!

I am a newbie to this motherhood club. I’ve previously called myself a childless mother, and I stick by that self proclamation. There is a special art to pregnancy. There are levels to this thing, herr. People, who find out that this will be my first child, assume that this is my first pregnancy. I have no problem correcting them. I am not new to pregnancy.

Moreover, it shouldn’t be assumed that I am, simply because I am going to be a new mother. Particularly, with staggering stats like, 1 in 3 women having miscarriages, in general. That number being even higher in communities of color, particularly among Black women. Nonetheless, I am new to the art of sustaining pregnancy, which is an entirely different ball game. I am new to the art of sustaining life.


“It will all click. The powers, potions and poise, will all click. The art of pregnancy, will click. Permanently painted boldly and beautifully, in my vision of life.”


I have so much to learn. I have so much to gain. So much to accept. My new and improved lifestyle of femininity, for one thing, is a hell of a learning curve. Continuing to hone and perfect my mastery of taming my tongue and fiery attitude, is another item on the list. Humility and patience, as well, being another two of those lessons to keep taking notes on. I am excited to continue to take notes, and make sense of the world around me, particularly regarding the latest role, I’ve been called to rise to.

In all my attitude and hormonal tendencies, I am beyond grateful for all that has been offered to and shared with me. Despite, its original purpose or origin, all that I have been offered to us, has added to the very real fact that I have continued to sustain life. That means more to me, than anything else in this whole wide world. I have to continue learning about how to shape my appreciation of such, but it’s coming along. I’m sure, when I finally meet this amazing young lady thing, that has changed and humbled a woman/ man thing like myself, when no one else knew how, it will surely click.

It’ll all make sense. My attitude. My fight for her life. My lessons and note taking. My continued and nonstop vigilance. My being alive, despite it all. For the first time. When I hear her cry. When I meet her eyes. When I touch and hold her. It will all click. The powers, potions and poise, will all click. The art of pregnancy, will click. Permanently painted boldly and beautifully, in my vision of life. Yes, I’m sure of it. I’ll finally be graduated to Master Artist, in my own right. I’m sure of it. A’se ;-)!

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