There’s a special club you join when your toddler still wanders into your bed at 2 a.m. or pops off the playground for a quick nurse.
‘It’s the “smile politely while fielding opinions” club. If you’re in it, I’m right there with you—muddy boots by the door, cloth wipes on the dryer, and a child cozy on my hip.
I lean natural and low-tox, but I’m also practical. My daughter, Ellie (5), taught me how grounding rhythms and connection can be.
My son, Milo (2), confirmed that snuggles and sleep are not a linear equation. We co-sleep when it works, we use our own beds when it doesn’t, and yes, I’ve breastfed past 2.
If that’s you, here are eight comments you’ve probably heard—and how I’ve learned to meet them with warmth, clarity, and a little crunchy calm.
1. “Isn’t he too old for that?”
Short answer? Not if it’s still working for both of you.
From a global health perspective, continued breastfeeding into the toddler years is not unusual or fringe. As the World Health Organization puts it: “WHO recommends you keep breastfeeding your child up to two years and beyond and for as long as you both want to continue.”
That line—as long as you both want to—matters. This is a relationship, not a rulebook.
In our house, nursing past age two looked like quick connection moments—post-nap resets, pre-bedtime snuggles, and the occasional “big feelings” pit stop.
If you still want to nurse and your toddler still wants to nurse, there’s nothing inherently “too old” about it.
Try this response: “We’re following our child’s cues and our family’s needs. It’s working for us.”
2. “You’re going to spoil them.”
Let’s retire the idea that comfort spoils children. Toddlers aren’t negotiating corporate bonuses; they’re building nervous systems.
Warmth and responsiveness don’t create entitlement—they wire in safety.
I’ve seen it with Ellie and Milo: consistent comfort actually reduces the clinginess people worry about. When kids trust that connection is available, they explore more boldly. On days when Milo nurses a bit more or needs extra contact, we lean in for a few days.
Then he surges forward—trying a new slide, stacking bigger blocks, waving hello to the neighbor’s dog. The “stickiness” passes faster because his tank is full.
If someone presses, I say, “Meeting needs isn’t spoiling. It’s parenting.”
3. “They’ll never learn to sleep on their own.”
This one usually comes right after you mention bed-sharing or a toddler still nursing to sleep. Here’s my lived reality: sleep is developmental, like walking and talking. Kids move through it at different paces.
Co-sleeping can be compatible with great sleep; it just looks different. Some families love a floor bed or a sidecar crib. Others rotate—sometimes together, sometimes apart.
For us, co-sleeping helped all of us sleep more, not less, during certain seasons. On weeks when we needed clearer boundaries, we set them—maybe a “last nurse” at bedtime and then a hand on the back if he wakes.
As anthropologist James McKenna has told families for years, the key is being informed and choosing what fits your real life: “Consider all of the possible choices and… match what you learn with what you think can work the best for you and your family.” I love that—no one-size-fits-all edicts, just thoughtful decisions.
4. “There’s no benefit after one.”
This is one I hear whispered at playdates. Here’s what the American Academy of Pediatrics actually says: it “supports continued breastfeeding… as long as mutually desired by mother and child for 2 years or beyond.”
That aligns with global recommendations and recognizes ongoing immune, nutritional, and relational benefits—plus the reality that families thrive on different timelines.
Do toddlers also need food? Of course. At our table, that means hearty breakfasts, farmer’s market apples, and lots of butter on sourdough. Nursing sits alongside food, not instead of it.
If someone insists there’s “no benefit,” a simple, “Actually, major pediatric groups support continued breastfeeding,” keeps it factual without inviting debate.
5. “Your marriage will suffer.”
Real talk: intimacy shifts after kids, whether you co-sleep or not.
What helped us wasn’t forcing a sleep arrangement that left everyone miserable. It was getting creative. We built in mini-rituals—Matt’s Saturday pancake duty (extra blueberries for the sous-chefs), a 20-minute couch debrief after bedtime, and yes, deliberate time just for us when sleep stabilized.
If co-sleeping is crowding out connection, get flexible. Trade nights, try a floor mattress in the kids’ room for transitions, or create a “start the night together, finish the night where everyone sleeps best” plan. Love adapts.
I also remind myself that partnership is a season-by-season project. Tired years require teamwork and kindness. The rest comes back.
6. “You’re creating bad habits.”
We hear “habit” and think “stuck forever.” But most “habits” in early childhood are bridges. They get us from newborn chaos to toddler rhythm.
Nursing to sleep, cuddling through a 2 a.m. wake, scooting over to make room for a small, snuffly human—those are tools. And tools change as needs change.
A gentle way to respond is, “We’re using what works now and we’ll shift when we’re ready.” It’s amazing what happens when you take the urgency out of it. With Milo, we moved from nursing to sleep to “nurse, then stories, then back rubs.”
It wasn’t an overnight flip; it was a series of tiny nudges. He followed because we led warmly and consistently.
If you want to reshape a pattern, try micro-changes:
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Keep the connection, change the sequence (stories before milk).
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Keep the sequence, change the location (nurse in a chair, finish in bed).
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Keep the comfort, change the duration (song timer or a “count to 20” hand rub).
7. “They’re going to be clingy.”
Clingy often translates to “still building confidence.”
Attachment isn’t about velcroing your child to your leg; it’s about creating a steady base camp from which they can adventure. When Milo knows he can check in—through a quick nurse, a cuddle, a hand squeeze—he extends further next time.
I like to ask, “What does independent look like for a two-year-old?” Usually, we realize our expectations are older than our child. Independence at 2 might be choosing between red and blue socks, tossing banana peels in the compost, or saying “all done” when they’re full.
If your toddler returns for refills of connection while they practice, that’s not clinginess—it’s calibration.
I’ve also noticed that when we protect sleep (even if that means a season of co-sleeping) and keep blood sugar steady (hello, snacks), “clingy” ebbs on its own.
8. “Aren’t you worried about what other people think?”
Do I enjoy side-eyes at family dinners? Not particularly. But the longer I parent, the more I’ve learned to zoom out. These years are short. My job is to do what helps our kids feel safe, nourished, and rested.
When the noise gets loud, I ground myself in three touchstones:
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Our values: connection, gentleness, real food, outside time.
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Our data: how we’re actually sleeping, functioning, and feeling.
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Our sources: clear guidance from credible experts, used as support—not law.
On sources: I like to keep it simple and high-quality. The WHO guidance on breastfeeding (“up to two years and beyond”) is easy to share when someone claims nursing at 2 is “weird.”
And when folks assume the pediatric world disapproves, it helps to know the AAP explicitly supports continued breastfeeding as long as it’s mutually desired.
Quoting isn’t about “winning.” It’s about lowering the temperature and reminding everyone that families are allowed to choose what works.
And on sleep: I appreciate Dr. James McKenna’s nuanced approach because it doesn’t tell me there’s only one right way to sleep—only safer ways to do what many families do at some point. His reminder to consider all options and match information to your real life is the kind of compassionate expertise that helps parents exhale.
Scripts that keep things kind (and keep your energy)
Sometimes we don’t need a debate; we need one sentence that honors the relationship and our boundaries. Steal these:
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“Thanks for caring about us. We’ve landed on a rhythm that’s working for our family right now.”
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“We follow evidence-based guidance and our child’s cues; we’ll adjust when it stops working.”
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“We’re focusing on sleep and connection over rules, and so far, everyone’s calmer.”
Practical tweaks that help (without abandoning your values)
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Shift, don’t shock. Move from nursing to sleep → nursing plus story → story plus cuddle → cuddle plus song. Small steps stick.
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Make comfort portable. A certain song, a lavender linen spray, a favorite pillowcase—these let you transition rooms without losing the vibe.
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Protect your back. If you’re bed-sharing, try a firm mattress, minimal bedding near baby, and a floor bed for easier exits. (For safety specifics, read guidelines from experts like McKenna’s lab and your pediatric provider.)
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Trade off. If you have a partner, alternate who does bedtime or first wake. In our house, “pancake parent” is also “bedtime parent” on Saturdays, which magically gives me a shower.
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Keep snacks flowing. Truly. Toddlers sleep better when dinner is substantial and there’s a mini-protein snack within two hours of bedtime.
A gentle note on safety
Every family should weigh risks and benefits with their own health providers.
If you co-sleep, follow safety guidelines (firm surface, sober, non-smoking adults, careful bedding, and special considerations for younger infants).
If you breastfeed, keep an eye on dental hygiene and iron-rich foods once your child’s eating solids. None of this cancels the connection you’re building; it just supports it.
Closing thoughts
If you’re still nursing your toddler or sharing sleep in some configuration, and you’re happy with it—there’s nothing to fix.
If you’re not happy, you don’t have to swing to the opposite extreme. You can keep your crunchy heart and make practical changes, one tiny step at a time.
When we remember that comfort isn’t a loophole but a language, a lot of the comments lose their sting. We can smile, say thanks, and go back to what matters: warm meals, messy art, fresh air, and a home where little bodies and big feelings have a soft place to land.
You know your child. You know yourself. Trust that.
And when the chatter gets loud, borrow this last line: “We’re doing what works for our family right now.”
It’s true—and it’s enough.
