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"No!" The protest came a bit too rapidly, perhaps, but it couldn't be helped once it was said. Mimsy's gaze fell to the floor, away from both of them, her fingers beginning a familiar anxious path along the hem of her dress.

"I mean." She took a deep breath in preparation to try again. "Please don't go. I feel very strongly that I should come with you. I do not want to separate our family so quickly, and..."

As she paused in search of more supporting evidence to her cause, she found exactly the sort of thing that she'd been hoping to. With a hopeful smile, she held up the large diaper bag and extended it towards him.

"We are prepared for at least the night, though there may be enough...supplies?" What were baby things called? Tools? Equipment? "We may have at least another day or so, in any case. I am uncertain about his age, but will inquire about it. Sunny may know, when she arrives - I presume that she will be able to advise us about sleeping arrangements, if a crib cannot be provided. He has been on the island for some time now, after all."

There wasn't much time to give any answer about the crib beyond a cautious "er--" before he was on to the next topic. Mimsy gave Peter a sidelong glance, wondering if he knew just what he was already asking of them before he could even speak.

The look she gave him was light-natured in its curiosity, despite its more sarcastic origins - the implied message was less 'does it look like I know what portions of this require refrigeration' and more 'do you really think that I look passably knowledgeable about this'. She voiced neither inquiry, however, and sat up to crane her head and peer into the bag alongside him.

"I suspect that I would have been informed of any critical necessity for refrigeration," she finally replied, tone somewhat indicative that she might have been musing aloud. "If we've been provided the bottles, then it's likely that there is something to go along with them."

She wasn't really sure what she was looking for until she found it, but triumphantly produced something with 'powdered formula' on the label.

"When mixed as directed..." One finger enthusiastically pointed at the aforementioned directions. "...the resulting solution will be a substitute for milk!"

After handing the powder over to him, Mimsy tried to figure out what he'd just been thinking. Applying the variable of the formula and the angle of his gaze, then--

"Robert!"

She gingerly plucked Peter up and settled him back into her arms before following in close pursuit.

"I'm not biologically capable of that! I would have to be his birth mo...you are not worried that I am, are you?" Then she was struck with another thought, and she stared at him with deep concern. "Will my lack of capability be a detriment to him?"

"Oh," she sighed, a slight smile appearing as she considered how probably silly it was for her to think these things. "I understand. That particular line of thought might not be the most suitable for."

The sentence wasn't abruptly interrupted in any way. She'd just stopped it there as soon as she made the informative discovery that when it came to erring on the side of caution for what was suitable or not, Robert clearly did not care. With a snort of laughter, she pulled away to avoid an unnecessarily increased drop risk.

But her visible concern returned very quickly as soon as she noted Peter's shift in attention, and very carefully directed him away from her chest.

"If I prove to be as amazing a mother as you claim, it will be because you will be an amazing father." Which would have been a lot cuter, had she not said it in such close proximity to his uncertainty over whether or not Peter was hungry. She regarded the baby with suspicion and thought briefly about his actions a moment ago.

"There is a significant possibility that he may be." As she took the bottle, she habitually noted the necessity for gloves, but nodded for him to sit instead of fetching them. "Sit with me, and we will determine his answer. It will be our first experiment as a family."

For one single second, she had to stop and marvel at the willingness with which her husband had just agreed to family experiment time. Her husband, whose first encounter with her had been a series of events that included his chemical mixture exploding and her cleaning it up when he disregarded lab safety and left instead of doing it himself. Now he'd treated the word 'experiment' as something to be celebrated, and apparently could hardly wait for it.

Then again, she was holding their baby. It would have been more than a little bit naive to think that over the course of their relationship, only one of the two of them had changed.

"Try?" she teased, settling into his lap. "We are sitting together in our home, with our infant child, and you still think that you will only try to accomplish this?"

As Peter's hands clumsily grasped the bottle, she leaned to brush her nose against Robert's cheek, followed by a light, playful kiss.

There were a great many counter-points that branched off at an exponential rate of growth, each dictating a different outcome to each of his aforementioned possibilities. She intended to explain that this was a short-sighted view of try, and that the actions that she encouraged did not really fit within that definition. She wanted to assure him that she would be proud of him when the moment he did make the announcement of 'look honey, I did it'.

But all of her willpower was presently being directed towards keeping the bottle tilted upright for Peter to drink, and when she caught Robert's reaction to the kiss, all of that shifted far into the back of her mind.

"Yes. Yes, I think so," she murmured, eyes closed, an effort to focus that was rendered entirely futile when he touched her. "Absolutely. Later."

Aware of the approaching danger of a new line to avoid crossing, namely the point that she would no longer be entirely sure that the baby would be gently placed somewhere, she set the bottle aside and stood. After waiting just a moment to see if he would protest the absence of the formula - he didn't - she glanced at Robert and hurried off towards the bedroom.

Peter was placed carefully in the very center of the bed. Though it was large enough that his chances of falling off were probably minimal, she began to fashion a nest around him with pillows and bunched up portions of comforter, visibly showing how hesitant she was that this was what she was supposed to be doing.

Of course their child would be that insistent upon immediately proving something wrong.

In other circumstances, Mimsy might have acknowledged this and been impressed. There was a strong chance that she would think back upon this moment later and be similarly impressed once she did. In this instant, however, this was not a time in which she was particularly open to being challenged by an infant.

She turned just enough to look up at Robert, expression bearing a little frown.

"Will it increase our likelihood with..." There had to be a solution here. Cribs had not always existed. Infant mortality rate was much higher historically, sure, but there had to be some safe options. "...the blanket and pillows on the floor? In the bathtub? In a box? A drawer, perhaps?"