Emily spent the last week of her pregnancy making the models from sets I found for her in a charity shop.
If this seems like a strange gift to get your other half, bear in mind that when we first met, she had a paper-crafted DNA helix hanging from her bedroom ceiling. This is despite the fact that the two of us despise junk modelling, and inwardly groan every time the kids show an interest, although we’ll cooperate. I know that children adore cutting and sticking and making bits and pieces out of toilet roll holders. But when you’re not particularly coordinated, like me, and when your ability to glue and stick and paint is limited, all those junk modelling sessions at the children’s centre father’s mornings can be a bit of a bind. The glue never works properly. Your offspring have ambitious plans with sheets of crinkly paper to decorate the outside of a spaceship, but the margarine tubs you’re given are too flimsy and the holes you punch always end up in the wrong place. Pretty soon the kids have lost interest and you’re the one doing it on your own, and it’s no longer a bit of fun – it’s a quest, and you’ll finish this job come hell or high water even though no one’s enjoying it anymore. In the midst of noisy mayhem, scissor hogging and devilish stares at the obnoxious little girl on the other side of the table who pinched the plastic lid you really needed for the ship’s wheel, you find yourself longing for a drawing corner, a puzzle sheet or some good old-fashioned colouring in. You know where you are with colouring in.
Anyway, this didn’t involve any glue, and she completed them with minimal bad language. Plus it’s hyper-realistic, because Martha is completely two-dimensional.