Midnight Coughs and Morning Melts

Slice of Life '25 2 Minutes

The AC fan goes off in an automatic style, swallowing the silence that wraps my cool body on the cooler couch. How does quiet go to quieter? I wonder. I’m used to some sort of white noise—the fan Dada runs each night by his side of the bed or the echoes of your noise machine through the baby monitor that sits on my side.

The silent void pushes my senses to a state of awareness no one wants at 3:45 in the morning.

Koff, koff

Darn, again? I wonder if it’s the dryness in your room.

I open my eyes and see your resting body twist and roll. You arch your back, lift your bum, and stretch one arm through the bars of the white crib. Your eyes open for a second, and then you try to return to sleep. Your body has learned to conquer rest, but this cough is a skillful warrior.

You’re losing the battle.

Time and time again, you try to regain control of another sleep cycle. I have a feeling you won’t be successful. Not tonight. So I wait on the couch, see-sawing between frustration and pride. You keep trying to fall asleep without calling us, but this cough isn’t something you can tame.

My brain can’t cope with decision-making in the middle of the night. Do I go in? To do what, exactly? If I ignore you, we’ll both be awake in separate rooms. Still tired in the morning. Think of something else.

This could be a slice.

Pop: an untitled document opens in my head, and words begin to appear. I see early revision moves, an intention to lead with a setting, and many other lines I now forget. At that moment, I’m proud of the writing I’m [not] doing. Now, it’s mostly forgotten.

***

We’re on the floor now, your tiny body close to mine. You claim the pillow, and my head hangs on the corner of it. The noises from a rising neighborhood join us: dogs excited for their morning walk, roosters reclaiming the empty park, and a soft breeze moving through the trees. Warf, Kreeee, Whooshh.

You’re pointing at the rhinos on your sleep sack, and I’m kissing your cheeks. It’s hard to choose this I-don’t-care-we’re-awake-too-early mindset, but when I’m successful, I feel an immense love wrapping us together.

Your sweet voice: Hippo water?

I know what you’re remembering—our recent visit to the zoo. You see the rhinos on your sleep sack and confuse them for hippos. Don’t we all?

Yes, Mama. We saw a hippo swimming in the water. Splash!

You lean toward me. I feel your soft forehead tap mine, and we both smile.

Splash! You say.

Then, as the morning light creeps into the room, you notice my sleepy face, put a hand on my cheek, and say, “Hola, Mama.“ I melt away.

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Published by Ana Valentina Patton

I aim to be a learner, not a knower. If I forget, please remind me.

Published

21 thoughts on “Midnight Coughs and Morning Melts”

  1. I loved all of the sensory detail in this post. I felt like I was in the room with you. What a sweet story. I love when the wee ones are so tender.

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  2. Yes, it’s hard to sleep when our little ones aren’t fast asleep. Even when my big ones aren’t well, I sleep less. Hope it was just a little cough.

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  13. Even during a restless night, you create such a peaceful and calm environment with your little one. I liked how you popped in a wistful draft of writing. Beautiful scene.

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  14. I love this scene, the scenes, that you didn’t (pre)write. We get to share the too-early morning and the melting of mama and baby girl.

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  19. Ah those nights when the cough is like a torture, keeping us awake. I just love how you added the feeling of pride as you watch your little one’s body fight off the cough and trying so hard to get back to sleep on their own. That’s so beautiful and I wish I had that feeling when I was going through that! Hoping tonight is smoother for you all!

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