Last night, I was awoken from my slumbers, having dreamt of prowling the skys in search of the elusive Air Kraken and following the Nightgaunts on their pre-Halloween migration, by a sudden and unexpected air raid siren.
The nightgaunts dispersed in a sudden frenzy of silent wings and snaking tails, the Air Kraken remained undiscovered for the night and my mind was torn from the Dreamlands and yanked back into the realm of the waking world. Without further warning, I found myself in my bed, my wife had already gotten up and had picked up my son who was
b) in need of a nappy-change
which of course and absolutely without doubt meant
c) he was a very effective air raid siren in deed.
So I put on my helmet, sorry, my glasses, stumbled out of bed and began doing my part stopping the air raid…
(And I now have an excuse for putting this photograph of an Avro Lancaster in this article)
So this is the dirty, oily, basically Dieselpunk, side of Steampunk Fatherhood . Being awoken in the middle of the night and then carrying my son around almost until 4 o’clock in the morning and near-mindlessly going through a routine of feeding, burping and nappy-changing (at one point it got really dirty, but I won’t bother you with details).
In between, the siren subsided only to start again and at one point, a real air raid almost manifested… But at almost four in the morning, everything was quiet again and we could sleep until 10. Nine day old babies usually do not sleep six hours in one go, but I guess, my son was rather exhausted after this episode, too.
Let’s see what the next night brings.