Again I don't really see it as "extended" but still it's there, continuing, whatever you want to call it. I breastfeed my baby, and she's two years four months and counting.
A couple months ago I was so ready to be done, for whatever reasons. Wanting to claw at my skin, have my body to myself but these days I am really glad it isn't. She nurses to sleep most nights, and early mornings. And on the occasional (or not so occasional) boo-boo or nap-wake-up-tantrum. It's a gentle ease into the rest of the day. For both of us.
We can talk about it. How wonderful she has feelings about breastfeeding, in her own words, and unprompted she said it tastes like chocolate. But then she went on to name every other food she knows.
And of course it's comfort, but I am so happy for that. I am mother. I comfort.
For some it's a pacifier, a favorite stuffed animal, and others a sippy cup or TV show or pack of fruit snacks.
We comfort. We make do.