Archie Comics began decades before my sister’s books scattered across our house got me hooked around 23 years ago. Like Golden Girls, they are comfort food in written form. There is something so predictable and wholesome and safe about Archie and his band of friends from the fictitious Riverdale.

And the world’s most famous love triangle — between Archie, Betty and Veronica — has defined almost every issue.

Now the word is Archie is getting married. To the girl no one wants him to.

Yes, the snooty, cold, no-common-sense bitch Veronica is said to be the recipient of Archie’s eternal love. He proposes with Betty in the room wiping a tear off her cheek.

Really. Really.

If this is actually the case, you can bet a legion of fans are going to revolt. As blinded as Archie is by Veronica’s hotness, I just can’t believe he’d pick her over uber cute, sweet, earthy Betty.

I haven’t actively bought a new Archie book in years — aside from Eric stuffing my stocking with them, my sister giving them as gifts (then reading them herself, of course!) or buying used ones at garage sales — but I now have Sept. 8 circled on my calendar to see where this goes…

I’m proud to say Lucy is an Archie fan, too. She finds the books in the bathroom and my nightstand and office, and loves to sit down and make up stories about the pictures. Alice? Well, if chewing equates love, then she is head over heels.

(That is my collection, numbering in the hundreds. The colour arranging — which needs updating — was inspired by this.)

Thanks to my sister, Michele, and reader Kelly for having this in my inbox this morning

I can still remember the physical torture of those early weeks of parenthood, when merely raising your arms over your head while taking a shower hurt. Your back and shoulders ache from carrying a newborn. Your eyes burn from being open so damn much. If breastfeeding, your nipples feel like a beaver was using them for training practice.

Add in a busy toddler, and it’s a wonder the four of us survived unscathed after Alice was born.

The one aspect of new parenthood (again) I was most worried about was breastfeeding. While the recollection of labour pain fades so quickly, my Girls were cringing daily at the memory of learning to breastfeed with Lucy — the hours spent learning to latch, the bleeding nipples, the lingering hole she chewed on my right side, the tears of frustration as pumping brought no milk.

Discover Birth, a local group of women specializing in childbirth, breastfeeding and post-partum care, offered help. (Actually, owner Stefanie first offered us a labour doula, which I turned down. For us, having a virtual stranger in the delivery room would have been uncomfortable. Maybe if we’d met sooner? I dunno. But I do know many women who’ve used doulas while giving birth and LOVED them.)

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There’s often controversy surrounding breastfeeding in public, even though it’s our right to whip out our breasts to feed our babies wherever and whenever we please.

As soon as I mastered the coordination required to feed Lucy (and now Alice) without a nursing pillow, we went everywhere with her — traveling with a baby the first six months before solids is ridiculously easy when the food source is conveniently strapped to your chest.

Thankfully I’ve never had a bad encounter with public breastfeeding, and I’ve fed everywhere: Restaurants, nursing rooms at the mall, the food court at the mall, doctor’s waiting room, the car, the Gap. But a girl from my mom’s group was at an East Side Mario’s restaurant once and was asked to go to the bathroom when she started nursing her son. I can’t remember what she did, but I know my response would have included some profanity, followed by, “Would YOU eat your dinner beside a toilet?”

Sometimes I’ve used a blanket, but this is more for my comfort than anyone else’s. If it’s chilly, or we’re beside a group of staring teenage boys.

But blankets are really annoying, as unless you bury your head inside like an ostrich, you can’t see your baby. Not to mention the fact baby has a hard time breathing.

Enter Babaloosta Baby’s nursing cover!

Owner Rebekah sent me this, and I am in love not only with the funky fabric (the colours and pattern are so me), but the unique design: A piece of boning is sewn into the top, creating an open canopy around your neck so you can see down. It makes latching so much easier, and provides an airway for Alice.

It’s apron-like style falls around your sides, too, which is very comforting and warm. Because your shirt rides up at the back and sides when you nurse, exposing (in my case) stretch marks and skin to the cold.

Other benefits: Lightweight, cotton fabric, noise and distraction blocker when Alice gets older and more aware of her surroundings, and can be used as a thin blanket in a pinch.

Rebekah lives in Oshawa with her hubby and kids, and sells her wares online via her website. She also creates ties (you must see these — they’re so neat!), cuddle blankets, change pads and more. Check her out!

An old co-worker of Eric’s gave Lucy this Disney Princess learn-to-write book with an attached magnetic drawing pad. It’s a perfect travel companion for the car — highly recommended for the 2-year-old set once they learn how to clear the screen by themselves, if you’re looking for something that will keep them occupied more than 0.2589 seconds.

One day, Eric was putting Lucy into her car seat, and when he handed her the book, she asked if he could draw her an octopus. Eric’s a good drawer, and Lucy was enamored with his creation.

“Oooooh! What his name?” she asked, wide-eyed and grinning.

Eric blurted out the first octopus-related name he could think of: “Pussy!” And scrawled the words across the top of the board.

Lucy, in the obsessive, repetitive way of toddlers, now demands Eric draw her an octopus — and write *ahem* Pussy’s name — every. single. time. we get into the car.

So, now we have Eric standing at the open car door, lightening-quick sketching an octopus on a pink Disney Princess magnetic drawing board, and Lucy excitedly yelling to the world: “I LIKE PUSSY!”

Tuesday I picked Lucy up from daycare, and she had red, angry scratches across her cheeks. Turns out we’d forgotten to put cream on her cheeks after her bath the night before, and they were super dry, itchy and flaky.

Lucy spent the day raking her fingers across her skin. Chalk a checkmark under ‘worst parent moment’ please.

So out came our miracle jar, its contents having saved my nipples, and all of our nose, lips and hands many times over in the past 13+ months:

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