On a bus with a baby -- escorted home to get the baby's things; --then baby becomes small and shrivels and is thrown in the fire: burns up. GUILT. Then I go to crib: "Can't find baby"--only a wet diaper. (Similar to empty tomb of Christ...only a linen cloth.) Uniformed maid is sent to search for baby: "I have never had the responsibility for a baby" she says; I feel great regret and wish I could find the baby again; and then there she is, right next to me. Happy! --At home: a teenage party for Wendy (11 years old) I get ready and go to party.