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.