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The questions that defined my daughter’s birth

Paloma’s due date came and went. Nine days later I got my bloody show, and within 30 minutes, full-on labor had begun. I got in the pool. I was biting on a towel, begging for ice cubes and asking for as little other stimulation as possible. I couldn’t be touched. I didn’t want to be talked to. My poor boyfriend was trying to keep it together but was beside himself.

Happy cheery painted trash cans for Coachella

Coachella runs an annual competition for recycling bins, from which sprang this fab set of photos of artist Jacob Livengood’s entry. Never has a garbage can made me so happy.

The Offbeat Mama’s pregnancy and birthin’ checklist

So… you’re having a baby? No two pregnancies and deliveries are the same, which means no two experiences will be. What you’ll find here is a handy checklist of a few things any Offbeat Mama may want to consider while pregnant.

Let’s talk about acne and pregnancy

You can go ahead and say it: acne sucks. It especially sucks as an adult, when you’re all “Shouldn’t I already be past this shit?!” My skin has never been the most stellar on its own, but after being prescribed Tazorac when I was twenty, I had it under control. Fast-forward a few years to twenty-three, when I was pregnant with Jasper. It turns out using Tazorac while pregnant is a BIG no-no, so I was suddenly stranded without my favorite skincare treatment.

New in reader photos: an encouraging garden plaque, a tidy rock garden, and a link to an Alice in Wonderland-themed eatery

Come with me this Monday and tiptoe through the Offbeat Home Flickr Group to enjoy uploads from our readers. Uncommon ’60s doorknobs, a classy-as-fuck dinner party, and a too-cute fabric tenty playhouse await.

Loving the mother I am

My daughter will be who she is. That is the most exquisite thing I could ever want for her. Any push from me to be the perfect mama is all fallow work.

Surrender to what? My three week wait to birth my son

About a week before my due date, I was in the change room at the local pool, and a woman in her sixties told me that each of her three babies were three weeks late. I was mildly appalled and silently certain that she must have had her dates wrong or some deep-seated psychological issues about being a mother. Being the nerd that I am, I had four years of data on my ovulation cycle. I was pretty confident about the dates.