Later, in Michael's office, Michael meets Astrid. When he wonders why Jan never called him, she explains that her birth expert didn't think Michael should be there. He lets it go, and asks to hold the baby. Jan gives him the go-ahead, as long as Michael leaves her in the car seat. And thus Michael is allowed to hold his ex-girlfriend's baby's car seat for the first time. He pats the impact-resistant plastic affectionately.
Montage of Michael doing a thing he claims he does: he picks up and holds a baby every day. I don't know where he finds all these women who are willing to let a strange man hold their kids all the time, but most of the moms are smiling. Maybe it's a Scranton thing. Michael launches on one of his philosophical tangents: "If a baby were president, there would be no taxes, there would be no war. There would be no government...and things could get terrible. It would probably be better as a screenplay idea than a serious suggestion." Way to reel it back in there, Michael.
Michael is still holding Astrid's car seat when he emerges from his office with Jan to introduce the baby to everyone, saying she'll know them for the rest of her life. Except maybe Creed, obviously. Jan just lets him go on, until he begins to raise the seat over his head, Lion King-style. As everyone heads into the conference room for the shower, Holly quietly asks Michael if he's okay. Feeling Jan's eyes on them, Michael overshoots "cold." He also overshoots "terse" and "rude" and lands all the way into "how he used to treat Toby all the time." Holly's like, Whoa, he wasn't kidding.
Kevin tries to avoid doing baby games, until Michael makes him. But since the "who wants to guess when the baby will be born?" game is clearly a non-starter, it's time for the presents, which consists of a single stroller that everyone kicked in on. Of course Jan already has one, a much nicer model that Oscar appraises at about $1,200. Yikes. Dwight scoffs, and as he boards the elevator with it, he tells us that $1,200 is more than the cost of his entire bomb shelter. "For $1,200, this thing had better be indestructible," he threatens. And with that, he clips the stroller's seatbelt around the buttered, cracked, watermelon he delivered that very morning. See you around, watermelon.