It was supposed to be a smooth night. Routine check-ins. Maybe a draft or two for Dadnaut Toolkit. A cheeky scroll through gaming updates. But somewhere between 02:03 and “just five more minutes,” the mission was compromised. Teething had struck—and it didn’t care about plans, productivity, or proper sleep cycles.
The little Cadetnaut was wailing like a malfunctioning alarm system. Red cheeks. Gum gnashing. The kind of cry that bypasses the brain and hits straight in the soul. And so, the Dadnaut was summoned—not to build, write, or tweak graphics—but to soothe, rock, and whisper calm into the chaos. Teething isn’t just a parenting milestone.
It’s an emotional endurance test. You start with optimism: Maybe it’s just wind. Then denial: It can’t be teething already, right? Followed swiftly by acceptance: Yes, we live here now—in the land of soaked muslins and fridge-chilled teething rings. The mission changed course. Instead of conquering the cosmic challenges of brand expansion, I found myself Googling “can babies overdose on teething gel?” while holding a half-chewed giraffe toy and praying for sleep like it was a deity. But here’s the twist: in the midst of this bleary-eyed rerouting, something realigned. I wasn’t just interrupted—I was needed. Not as the strategist or designer, but as the comforter. The constant. The one who makes everything feel safe when it’s all going haywire.
So, yes—Dadnaut’s mission was momentarily derailed. The blog drafts stayed untouched. Notifications piled up. But the comfort given? That mattered more than any productivity metric. Because this role isn’t just about building universes—it’s about grounding them. The post-tears nap that followed felt like a victory. Not loud. Not flashy. But real. Mission Log 003 concludes: Sometimes parenting demands a pivot. Sometimes the galaxy can wait while you hold a tiny hero through their first battle. And when the cries turn to calm and sleep returns like a lost signal—well, that’s a win worthy of any star chart.
Dadnauts 