She wrinkles her nose on principle but leaves the hat where he's set it. At least then she doesn't have to look at it perched the wrong way on his head, how do you do, fellow kids?-style. It's funny to feel a little nostalgic about the trip she didn't go on. Seeing Stonehenge might have been nice-- but the time spent apart had been necessary. Even then, she loved him; she'd needed the space not to be rid of him, but to examine his absence, to test her feelings in something closer to laboratory conditions.

For a moment she leans away, only to set her tea down, before shifting closer to lean in against him, head on his shoulder. Reflexively, she smooths her hand over her stomach, shooting him a little smile, an invitation to touch if he wants.

"Okay, I think. Quiet. Not big enough to swim laps yet."

Objectively she ought to be more worried than she is. Even without the particulars of her history, this should be classed as a high-risk pregnancy; but something-- maybe intuition, maybe faith, maybe just stubbornness-- makes her believe things will be all right for all three of them.