Is Silicone Actually Safe for Your Babies?

I was standing in the middle of our cramped London kitchen, clutching a mint green weaning spoon, when the conflicting advice reached a deafening crescendo. My mother-in-law had just confidently declared over FaceTime that anything squishy was inherently toxic and would probably give the twins rickets (page 47 of her preferred 1980s parenting manual likely suggested giving them a good piece of unvarnished wood, which I found deeply unhelpful at 3am when we were dealing with double teething). The barista at our local cafe, a man whose child exclusively wears undyed hemp, had warned me earlier that morning that synthetic rubber is basically petroleum's evil cousin. Then, to cap it all off, the terrifyingly put-together mum at our NCT group dropped a casual comment into the WhatsApp chat about how her paediatrician absolutely insisted on medical-grade polymers to avoid microplastics.

I just wanted to feed Maya some mashed banana without accidentally poisoning her, while her sister Lily attempted to eat a stray shoe. It's a bizarre world of babi-centric marketing out there, designed specifically to make you feel like you're failing before you've even made breakfast. At 4am the previous night, covered in an ungodly amount of drool and having entirely lost my dignity, I found myself typing 'is silicone safe for babie' into my phone with one thumb while trying to prevent Lily from gnawing the edge of the coffee table. I needed to know if this rubbery material that makes up ninety percent of our kitchen inventory was actually a good idea, or if I was unwittingly ruining my children's future.

What actually is this rubbery stuff

From what my sleep-addled brain can process after trawling through medical journals that I'm vastly underqualified to read, silicone isn't plastic, even though it feels suspiciously like it. It's apparently derived from silica, which is a compound found in sand, mixed with oxygen, carbon, and hydrogen. My paediatrician, a wonderfully exhausted NHS doctor who has seen absolutely everything, told me during their six-month check-up that the reason she likes it's because it's chemically inert. This sounded brilliant until I realised I didn't entirely know what inert meant outside of my own weekend parenting style.

Basically, she explained that it doesn't react with food or liquids, and it won't leach horrific chemicals into your child's porridge when exposed to heat. Unlike the cheap plastic bowls of my youth, it doesn't break down into microscopic toxic flakes. Of course, wrapping my head around the chemistry of synthetic rubber-like polymers is a bit much when I haven't slept a full night since 2022, but my understanding is that as long as you aren't letting them chew on industrial sealant, it's generally considered the least terrifying option for putting inside tiny, demanding mouths.

Plastic versus the squishy alternative

If you open the third drawer down in our kitchen, you'll find a graveyard of old plastic containers that have been stained permanently orange by a single encounter with spaghetti Bolognese. We all have this drawer. The problem with plastic, as I've neurotically discovered, is that the moment you heat it up in the microwave to defrost some pureed carrots, it starts quietly having a chemical panic attack. It degrades, warping slightly at the edges, and begins shedding millions of microplastic particles straight into your baby's dinner.

Then there's the scratching issue, which is arguably worse. Maya has this delightful habit of aggressively stabbing her food with a fork before she eats it, which instantly leaves microscopic gouges all over plastic plates. These tiny ravines become luxury five-star resorts for bacteria, completely immune to whatever washing up liquid you throw at them. You can scrub a scratched plastic bowl until your arm falls off, but you're never really getting it clean, which is a horrifying thought when you consider how often babies drop their food onto the plate, then onto the floor, and then back into their mouths.

Silicone, on the other hand, just sits there taking the abuse without complaining, surviving the freezer, the microwave, the top rack of the dishwasher, and boiling water without so much as flinching. Glass, of course, solves all these chemical problems instantly, which is absolutely fantastic right up until the exact second your toddler discovers gravity and turns the kitchen floor into a glittering hazardous waste zone.

The pinch test and other party tricks

Here's where things get slightly complicated, because not all of this stuff is created equal, and some manufacturers are entirely happy to lie to your face. There are different grades, and my frantic late-night research led me down a rabbit hole of European manufacturing standards. In the US, they've FDA-approved food-grade stuff, which is fine, but the Europeans have the LFGB standard, which sounds like a terrible indie band but is actually a much stricter testing process that ensures absolutely no odour, taste, or chemical transfer happens.

The real gold standard, according to my doctor's casual aside, is platinum-cured medical grade, because the cheaper stuff is cured using peroxide, which leaves behind a residue that I definitely don't want anywhere near my children's gums. Because I'm now that deeply paranoid father, I perform the pinch test on everything we buy. If you stretch or pinch a piece of silicone and the stretched area turns white, it's packed with cheap plastic fillers and you should immediately throw it in the bin. If it stays a solid colour, it's pure. I once spent twenty minutes in the baby aisle of Boots aggressively twisting a spatula looking for white streaks, completely ignoring the security guard watching me with deep concern.

If you're currently navigating the drool-drenched nightmare of new teeth and want to make sure you're getting the pure stuff, you might want to browse Kianao's teething toys collection before you lose your mind entirely and let them chew on your car keys.

That weird soapy taste and the teething trenches

There's one massive flaw with this miracle material, and I discovered it when I absentmindedly licked some leftover yogurt off Lily's spoon and realised it tasted aggressively of Fairy Liquid. Silicone is porous to oils, which means it absorbs the scent and taste of strong dish soaps or dishwasher tablets like a sponge. For a week, I thought my babies were just suddenly becoming fussy eaters, when in reality, I was serving them food that tasted like a Lush shop.

Instead of binning all your expensive bowls and starting over, you can just soak the offending items in some hot water mixed with white vinegar or baking soda, boil them for five minutes, and the soap taste completely vanishes. You just have to switch to mild, unscented soap afterward, which is a minor inconvenience compared to the horrors of microplastics.

This durability is exactly why we lean heavily on silicone for teething, which in our house has been less of a milestone and more of a prolonged hostage situation. I bought the Panda Teether in a moment of sheer desperation when Maya was producing enough saliva to fill a paddling pool. It's genuinely brilliant because the flat shape means she can really hold it herself without dropping it every four seconds, meaning I don't have to keep retrieving it from the floor while trying to make a cup of tea. It's 100% food-grade, passes the pinch test, and you can chuck it in the fridge to cool it down. I highly think it if you want to reclaim at least a fraction of your sanity.

We also have the Squirrel Teether, which is perfectly fine and completely safe. The mint green colour is aesthetically pleasing, and it does the job of soothing irritated gums, but Lily mostly just likes to throw it at the cat. It's a solid backup for the nappy bag for when we inevitably lose the panda somewhere in the back of the pushchair, but it doesn't hold her attention for quite as long.

The environmental guilt trip

As a parent, you're constantly caught between wanting convenience and not wanting to destroy the planet your children are going to inherit. The harsh reality of silicone is that it's not biodegradable. If you throw it in a landfill, it's going to sit there forever, outlasting both of us and probably the cockroaches. It won't degrade, but neither will my resentment for certain overly-enthusiastic children's television presenters.

However, because it doesn't break down, it means you don't have to replace it every three months. The plates and spoons we bought for the girls when they started weaning are still in perfect condition, whereas we would have gone through ten sets of cheap plastic by now. When you're finally done with it, you can't chuck it in your normal recycling bin, but there are specialised recycling facilities that will melt it down and turn it into playground mats or industrial oils. It's an imperfect solution, but given the chaotic reality of keeping two toddlers alive, it's a compromise I'm entirely willing to make.

If you're ready to upgrade your baby's chewing materials to something that won't slowly poison them or break after a week, you can explore our wooden play gyms and sustainable essentials, which are guaranteed to survive at least a few encounters with a highly motivated toddler.

Questions I frantically Googled at 3am

Is it normal for my silicone bowls to smell like soap?

Infuriatingly, yes. The material absorbs the oils from highly fragranced washing up liquids and dishwasher tablets. If your baby's porridge suddenly tastes like lavender, you haven't broken the bowl. Just soak it in hot water with a massive splash of white vinegar, boil it for a few minutes, and switch to a boring, unscented soap. My kitchen currently smells like a fish and chip shop because of the vinegar, but at least the spoons are neutral again.

Can I put these things in the microwave without them melting?

Yeah, and it's honestly the best part about them. Proper food-grade silicone can handle extreme temperatures, from the freezer straight into the microwave. I routinely nuke frozen blocks of pureed peas in these bowls and they don't warp, melt, or leach chemicals. Just make sure you aren't microwaving something that has cheap plastic fillers in it, or you'll have a horrible sticky mess on your hands.

How do I know if the cheap teether I bought online is seriously safe?

Do the pinch test immediately. Grab the teether, twist it or stretch it as hard as you can. If the rubber turns white at the stress point, it's packed with chemical fillers and you should bin it. If the colour stays completely solid, it's pure silicone. Also, check the packaging for FDA or LFGB certifications. If it just arrived in an unmarked plastic bag from an obscure website, maybe don't put it in your baby's mouth.

Will boiling silicone ruin it?

Not at all. My doctor practically begged me to boil our pacifiers and teethers to sterilise them. Unlike plastic, which gets sad and deformed in boiling water, silicone can handle temperatures up to about 200°C. I boil our teethers for five minutes once a week, mostly because Lily likes to drop hers on the pavement while we're waiting for the bus.

Do teethers really help with the crying?

Nothing cures the crying completely because teething is a fundamentally miserable process, but a good chilled teether definitely takes the edge off. The pressure on their swollen gums provides physical relief, and the cold temperature from the fridge numbs the pain slightly. Plus, it gives them something to focus on other than their own discomfort, which gives you about ten precious minutes to drink a cup of coffee while it's still vaguely warm.