On the night of his tenth-month's birthday Peter spent his first night in his own bed. This is important news mostly because it seemed so impossible just a day earlier.

The matter of fact is that ever since he was born, Peter has been receiving the most relaxed parental attitude among all of our children. The third child syndrome in his case has lead, for instance, to the fact that his sleeping or eating regimes have never been the subject of scrutiny and concern. A crying baby he has been, to compare with Ivan, but that is his natural way of getting noticed among two older and more time-demanding siblings, we thought. As a result, Peter has ended up being carried around in someone's (mostly Emese's or her mom's) hands most of the time, just in order to keep him silent, and has been granted unlimited 24/7 access to his mother's milk.

This has naturally meant that he had slept in one bed with her ever since he had been born - a privilege that has been available to neither our elder children, nor to myself - as I have spent most of the time since October away from the family home, trying to complete my PhD thesis in peace. Needless to say, everyone's expectation was that moving Peter to his own bed would be an experience of extensive screaming and terror that no one was looking forward to. So any inquiries into a possible date for attempting it were simply shrugged off by Emese.

All this changed yesterday when Emese drove away for a short trip to the UK. Remaining with the kids on my own, and with the courteous assistance of Emese's mother, I was firmly committed to try the unthinkable. Peter's cot has already been set in the children's room, and used for months as an extra storage space for Maia's and Ivan's ever increasing volume of toys. So on the evening after Emese left home, I emptied it and courageously placed Peter into it.

To say that Peter was too happy would be an exaggeration. He started screaming in his usual pitchy way. But I resisted the temptation to lift him up, and tried to bottle-feed him for a couple of minutes. This did not work quite successfully. But just before I was about to lose hope, I had the brilliant idea to stick the ordinary pacifier into his month. And then, to my great astonishment, he calmed down. For a few seconds he was quite and calm.

I was quick to leave the room, and the crying started again. But the darkness had passed, so to speak. Out in the light kitchen I was braver, and more willing to try the '10 minute' treatment. It is one that I have read somewhere in Mr. Dad's books, and have been successfully practicing ever since to put a child to sleep alone. The system basically means that the crying child does not get lifted, but just a visit by a parent every 10 minutes to calm her/him down. This way, the theory says, the child quickly should learn that it makes no sense to scream and shout in bed in order to get carried.

I looked at the clock for the first 10 minutes to pass. What was my surprise, when 3 minutes later Peter's crying stopped abruptly, as if cut. He was sleeping. I had prepared for a long sleepless night, with all doors open between the bedroom and the children's room, so that no sobbing would remain unheard. I had to make three trips along this rout, to find Peter sitting in the cot and sobbing, and to realize that all that was enough was give him his pacifier again and place him horizontally. That would put him to sleep instantly.

It wasn't before 5 am that he woke up for the fourth time, this time seriously upset. The milk, I thought in despair! It worked - Peter sucked about a quarter of the bottle, then took his favourite pacifier again, and went back to sleep. He woke up with the other kids about 7 am. He had spent his first night in his own bed, in the children's room, away from mummy's warm and comforting presence. What a triumph, I thought.

Walking up Attila ut alongside the Vermezo park with Maia and Ivan, we are approaching a big gun sign on a shop window. "Pavel, why is this gun there?", Maia asks. "Because they sell guns in this shop", I say. "But why do they sell guns, Pavel?", Maia keeps asking. "Because people want to buy them", I reply, hoping to have closed the subject. But no:
"What do people need guns for, Pavel?", the next question arrives. Not an easy one.
"Well, to shoot at animals, and at each other sometimes", I have to admit.
"But why would they want to kill each other?", my daughter still cannot understand. Neither can I. And have no better answer than:
"Because they are stupid."
I think she understands this one well.

Иван вече е голямо момче. Все още се разхожда като мече и бузите му са по бебешки обли. Но характерът му все по-ясно излиза на бял свят: сдържан, кротък, но не търпи да му се налагат. Освен това, въпреки че е изложен на постоянна доминация от страна на по-голямата си сестра, Иван все по-често започна да изразява собствените си мисли - засега все още по-често на унгарски.

Миналата седмица до мен достигна следната история. Емеше се прибрала с децата у дома и започнало обичайното суетене. Неочаквано Иван застанал пред нея и най-сериозно заявил: "Мамо, а ти няма ли най-после да отидеш пак на кино?"

Учудена, Емеше го разпитала защо е тази неочаквана грижа към културния и живот. "Само когато си на кино можем и ние да гледаме филми", спокойто обяснил Иван. Английските педагози непременно биха приели това като доказателство, че детето прави добри причинно-следствени връзки. В резултат, Емеше действително отишла на кино, а Иван и Майа се насладили на любимия си кино-балет, постановка на "Лебедово езеро" в Ленинградския академичен театър за опера и балет от 1968 г.

Last night I arrived in Horgos for the biweekly reunion with the kids and Emese. They arrived later that day and both Maia and Ivan were very excited to find me in the living room. After the long round of hugs and kisses Maia got curious: "How did you arrive here?" I proudly explained how I took first the night train from Sofia, and then a coach from Belgrade, and then a bus from Szabadka. "But will you come home with us to Budapest this time, Pavel?", Maia begged hesitantly. Apparently she thought it likely that I would take the same route directly back to Sofia. But my plans were different, I had booked a one way return ticket from Vienna by Fly Nicky.
But before I could react to the question, she continued: "If you come, I shall give you two of my chocolate candies!"
Now, that sounded like a treat. Although she knew well that she should be a nice girl who always gives out her sweets - and other belongings for that sake - to her dearest, Maia was not often so ready to sacrifice sweets.
"Sure, I will", I said affirmingly, "I would love to have a chocolate"!
Maia's eyes grew happy, and a big smile spread over her face. "Yu-eee," she exclaimed. Then looked at me seriously and said: "I could even give you a third one if you come, Pavel. This is because... I love you".
This sounded genuine. Her voice even trembled a bit as she said it. Kids at the age of 5 are known to be generally frank. Quite surprised, and touched, I was quick to respond: "I love you too, Maia. And so we are happy, because we love each other, aren't we?" She nodded, and the smile was back on her face.

The deal was sealed, and we spent three nice days together. At the end of the second one we arrived to Budapest and Maia offered me three large candies as promised. After the kids went to bed I took one, and offered one to Emese, reminding her that this chocolate is my love token from my daughter.
"Well, I do not like these ones too much, and, by the way, Maia told me secretly today that she did not particularly like them either", Emese said with a large triumphant smile.

Well, I thought, I do not like them particularly either. But the fact is a fact, Maia gave them to me as a token of love. So one of them was bound to come with me to Sofia. And no mean comments by Emese could make me feel less sentimental and proud of my shared love with my daughter.

Днес сутринта седнахме с щерка ми да си поприказваме както подобава. Не се бяхме виждали повече от две седмици все пак. От дума на дума, стана въпрос за това къде ще живеем.
- Искам вече да се връщаме в Англия, почти измрънка Майа.
- Защо - попитах - не ти ли допада унгарската детска градина?
Фактът е, че след като изкара първата си школска година в Англия на възраст 4 години, както е според тамошния ред, Майа, вече на 5, в момента посещава отново унгарска детска градина. В Унгария, както и в България, училище се започна най-рано на 6 години. Имах известно опасение как ще и се отрази връщането в източноевропейската система, след като миналага година вече успя да пропише и прочете на английски - а и на български.
Отговорът, който получих от петгодишната си дъщеря, систематичен и изчерпателен, би затоволил и най-взискателния изследовател на детската педагогика в сравнителен план. Поне така ми прозвуча.

- Първо - рече Майа - в Будапеща е по-лошо, защото всеки път, след като се нахраним с другите деца, учителката посочва едно и то трябва да почисти чинийте и чашите на всички.
Ясно, помислих си, дежурен, нищо ново под слънцето. Но защо пък само един. "Един път и мен ме посочи и хич не ми хареса това," продължи Майа. Хм, като се замисля, и на мен не би ми било приятно сам да чистя - поне двама, да сме компания. Въпрос на педагогика, сигурно.
- Второ, учителката ми в Англия беше бременна и сигурно вече е родила бебето - рече дъщеря ми. - Искам да го видя! Освен това - допълни тя - в Будапеща едната учителка е много по-млада, а другата хич вече не е млада, с бели коси.
Твърде твърде вярно наблюдение - доколко ли привлекателна е на професията детска учителка в предучилищна възраст за по-младите жени - и мъже?
- Освен това - добави Майа - в Будапеща по цял ден съм с една и съща група деца, не мога дори да видя Иван /брат й е на 3 години и попада в друга група, макар в същото заведение/. В Англия, когато нямахме занимания, можехме да играем с всички деца на нашия етаж - с други думи, с цялата предучилищна възраст. Действително, спомних си, че Майа се поздравяваше приятелски и с по-големи, и с по-малки деца когато я водех на училище в Оксфорд.
- И последно, четвърто - отброи детето - в английското училище имаше сцена.
Сцена! Спомних си първия ден, когато я заведох в New Marston Primary - още от вратата се затича към един параван със завеси, като театрална сцена наистина, и започна да облича някакъв костюм на приказна принцеса. Месеци наред след това учителките й ни повтаряха, че дъщеря ни има страхотен афинитет към сценичните изкуства. Сякаш не знаехме - след постоянното танцуване на балет в хола, театралните постановки в Милковица, песните в съпровод на моята китара... Значи в Будапеща нямало сцена и костюми. Само това да беше би обяснило всичко.

За да не остане съмнение относно методологията зад този анализ ще кажа само, че Майа сравнява безплатното държавно училище в Оксфорд с почти безплатната общинска детска градина в будапещенския Първи район около двореца в Буда.

Тази вечер четенето на приказки за лека нощ се получи необичайно нравоучително. Приказка без поука няма, разбира се, но този път на главите на Иван и Майа се изсипаха две, всяка от които може да мине за урок по морал и право. Авторът им е Георги Караславов. В първата пиленцето със златиста перушина се самозабравя заради вниманието на децата и става жертва на ястреба. Във втората горделивото борче израства прекалено бързо и тънко, и бурята го пречупва на две.

Иван позагуби интерес след като разбра, че "буки" са просто едни дървета с листа, за разлика от борчето, което има иглички. Но Майа изслуша всичко съсредоточено. Не знам как ми хрумна този път да преговоря поуките с нея преди да изляза от стаята:

- Разбра ли защо ястребът изяде пиленцето - попитах, и сам отговорих, - защото беше прекалено глупаво и горделиво. Не слушаше майка си и си мислеше, че златната перушина го прави по-важно.

Майа ме гледаше леко стреснато.

- Павел, какво е "ястреб," - попита.
- Това е една голяма птица която гледа отгоре и си похапва непослушни пиленца - разясних почти научно. После продължих да морализаторствам - и борчето не издържа на бурята, защото беше лошо и непослушно.

С това, помислих, бащинските ми задължения за вечерта се изчерпваха. Раздадох целувки и пристъпих към вратата. Тогава Майа се обади:

- Павел, аз пък искам да съм оная птица!

В първия момент недочух. Какво искаше момичето?

- Да съм оная птица, дето яде пиленцето. Искам да съм ястреба.

Твърде твърде разумно, помислих. Особено за няма и петгодишно дете. Но вместо това се опитах да изляза с чест от диалога:

- Добре. Но да знаеш, че и глупавите ястреби има кой да ги изяде.

После бързо затворих вратата, за да избегна последващи въпроси в областите на орнитологията, еволюцията, и обществените взаимоотношения.

Two weeks later, time has arrived to share my first observations of Peter – my newly arrived son. Most of what he has done during this time is pretty much sleeping, crying and eating. Yet every now and then he also remains quiet for a couple of minutes, observing the world around with seemingly fascinated eyes.

The first time this happened was actually on the very evening after we brought him home. Quite exhausted ourselves after the long and eventful day we were relying on our previous knowledge of what new-borns are supposed to be like during their first couple of days: sleepy. This is indeed what we had observed with both Maia and Ivan before, somewhat unfairly in a way, because they seemed to sleep all the time while their mom was still with them in the hospital, and then suddenly wake up to crying life the moment she would return home.

There was no stay in the hospital this time, not in England. So there was a good chance that Emese would be able to take some relaxing sleep after the delivery. This is when I took Peter up to his newly arranged cot in our bedroom. It was a lovely late spring evening, with the sun still shining bright as late as 8.30 pm. Its warm orange red light was all over reflecting in the greenery of our gardern. And there was the wind, moving the branches, the leaves, and the grass, in a somewhat surreal motion.

Peter’s cot was positioned in the upfront part of the room, half surrounded by windows, and offering a great panoramic view of the top branches of the trees. I even ducked quickly to check what he would actually see. Then I carefully placed him on his back. Wide awake I could see him watch the endless movement of the colourful trees. He remained like this for at least fifteen minutes.

Peter has had this quiet observational moments ever since then. Most recently I watch him do it today – relax in my arms and stare around with great curiosity. But he is not in my arms often – someone else in the family holds him most of the time. His mother.

Breastfeeding

In line with what is already a well established and deliberately pursued practice, Emese keeps him close most of the time. Unlike some of our friends who opted for different kinds of pre-scheduled feeding times, she has ultimately chosen the self-regulation method. Which means that during most of their first half year or so she is available to breastfeeding 24/7.

Or almost. During Peter’s first nights when milk was not really there yet, Emese had some painful moments when she had to turn him away. I remember taking the quiet of night for some writing when all of a sudden just after 3 am she arrived down the stairs with a small crying pack in her hands, handed it over to me, and said: “Your son needs you, Pavel!”

But such moments are quite rare after day three. Where there is milk, there is peace, the wisdom of the house reads. And indeed, thanks to Emese’s choice of feeding programme it is seldom to hear Peter cry.

And when that happens, it usually means that Emese has dared to take some time off him. In the shower, preparing food, out in the yard, ironing his clothes. These are the occasions during which I would normally spend time with my second son.

What is Peter like

For one thing, Peter is very strong. Already on his first evening I noticed how much more difficult it was to operate his tiny legs and arms while trying to plug them into sleeves. It would appear that his limbs are hard and immobile, sticking usually in the least suitable direction, and making the dressing up process quite a hurdle.

And the dressing down as well. Whenever need comes upon Peter it comes abundant, if you know what I mean. Funnily we had noticed this already in the hospital where he had been releasing the black mechonium from his bowels for over 15 minutes uninterruptedly, catching by surprise the midwives and other hospital staff.

This mode somehow persisted after him switching to normal defecation. After the initial two days period, his calls became instantly regular and quite powerful. To the extent that every change of his nappies would normally involve changing his entire garment as well. And that is when I realized that his arms and legs were quite stiff and not easy to move around.

Other than being quite an athlete, Peter has a dry skin. We noticed it immediately, and received the explanation that it may be a result from him being slightly overdue. But within a day his skin started pealing off and looked quite bad. This is when we began treating him with olive oil. Originally we were using the one from the kitchen, until it occurred to me that perhaps he could do with the not-so virgin one. In any case, this gave rice to jokes by Maia that her littlest brother “smells like salad”.

In addition to being dry, Peter’s skin seems somewhat darker in complection than anyone else’s in the family. It is difficult to judge at this early stage, as he looks mostly purple or pink under his clothes, but I would not be surprised if he turns out to be one of those who my mom would say were “born with one extra sun bath”. Lucky because their skins are generally less vulnerable to sunburns.

Първи юни - международен ден на детето. Сутринта поздравих Майа и Иван с празника им, и им дадох по едно карамелено шоколадче. Майа поиска второ, което да подари на приятелката си Алия и го получи. Осем часа по-късно, изморена след цял ден в детския спортен клуб към местния футболен клуб "Оксфорд Юнайтед," Майа беше в доста ревливо настроение. Отказа да яде от невероятно вкусните тортили, приготвени от майка й, защото "не обичала палачинките с месо, печени чушки и бобено пюре, а с мед."

След вечеря Майа остана с мен насаме в кухнята.
- Павел, моля ти се, дай ми шоколад - изхлипа с най-милото гласче, на което е способна.
- Нали знаеш, че децата, които не си изяждат вечерята не получават шоколад? - отвърнах небрежно.
- Но нали днес е празникът на детето?
- Да. Затова сутринта получи шоколад - припомних.
- Но нали вечерта още е днес?

Въпросът ме свари неподготвен.
- Разбира се. Днес цял ден е днес. И цял ден е празник на децата.
- Значи мога да получа още шоколад? - триумфално заключи Майа. Аз обаче не се предавах:
- Нали знаеш, че майка ти ще ми се кара ако ти дам шоколад вместо вечеря?

Последва миг мълчание. Майа отдавна беше спряла да хлипа. Но изведнъж гласът и прозвуча много по-различно. Леко хрипкаво, насмешливо, и напълно делово:
- Айде, айде - звучеше точно така, както би го казал някой от приятелите ми когато ме канят да излезем на вечеря, а аз имам нещо спешно за довършване. Звучеше така, както го казвам аз. Но завършекът на изречението ме срази - Няма да й кажа!

Не можах да сдържа смеха си. Малка малка е Майа, а вече знае да заговорничи.
- В къщи нямаме тайни един от друг. Трябва да й кажа - заявих убедително. Майа ревна с пълен глас. Честит първи юни.