Adelaide rather seems the type, outwardly, but in truth she is less than overprotective when it comes to things like people holding Charlie. From his first days he's been a popular fixture in the Capitol, visited and held by all sorts of people as one of the very few babies around. On top of that Adelaide's own raising was so haphazard, her mother less nurturing than a cactus and her brother so enormously full of love but making the actual raising parts up as he went along, so she knows better than to think that babies need to be treated with kid gloves.
Rob was far more fastidious, but that only made Adelaide take the opposite stance, trying not to be irritated with him as he fussed and sterilized - and there, she's already started thinking of him in past-tense. She feels a pang of guilt which is so entirely foreign to her and with an effort she pushes it away, focusing on what's here, what's now, the way she normally does so automatically.
"Sure, that'd be great," she says, and now she does approach, moving across the small space to the table with Charlie. She slides into the booth seat and sits Charlie there on the edge, ready to lay him out for measuring. He kicks his feet, swiping them in their footies back and forth over the smooth surface, amused by the motion. She smiles a bit and gives a little nod to invite Maggie to do her thing. "We'll have to make it a bi-weekly event at this rate," she adds.
Then she quirks her brow. "Are you the one behind all those patches?" she asks. "I'd say my favorite is that one of Sarge's... What a fucking great patch," she laughs loosely, shaking her head and looking warm and fond. "That's so completely him."