I love going to sleep with Marcus. I hold him from behind, my left arm flung over him; my right curled up, hand pressing against his back. This way, I hold him on both sides, cocooning him safely. And I love waking up with Marcus, snuggling into each other, greeting the morning with a kiss - or, in the word Dave has coined - snoggling.

But I hate sleeping with Marcus.

He snores. Loudly. Very loudly. It's not his fault. The poor boy suffers from something called sleep apnoea. He snores rhythmically and then stops breathing completely... for up to twenty seconds. This scary, eerie, silence is broken by him spluttering explosively, gasping for breath like a drowning man. Listening to him struggling for breath is terrifying. And damned annoying.

I've discovered that rolling him onto his side stops the snoring. Last night I had to do this three times. The final time was the last straw. I kicked him and forcefully shoved him as far away from me as I could and built a buttress of pillows to prevent him rolling onto his back again. In theory, his irregular breathing means he doesn't get a good night's sleep. In practice, it means I don't. The truly frustrating thing is that he doesn't wake up during these episodes - I do. And remain awake for a good fifteen minutes or so while I simmer angrily, plotting ways of shutting him up. Perhaps I could smother him with pillows, or rig him up into a harness which would restrict his mobility, keeping him on his side, or maybe I could install spikes into the mattress which would dig in if he tried to roll onto his back.

But then I remember it's not his fault, and I hold him from behind, my left arm flung over him; my right curled up, hand pressing against his back, cocooning him safely. And putting in my earplugs.