In a bright hospital room, a tiny cry filled the air. Her parents leaned close, happy tears glistening on their faces.
They wrapped her in a soft blue blanket and carried her home. Khatija was theirs.
At home, Khatija learned to walk. She wobbled and reached, step by wobbly step.
She reached her mother's open arms. Her father cheered so loud the whole house clapped.
One day she looked up and said, "Mama!" Her mother dropped the laundry basket — clatter!
Her mother scooped her up in a spinning hug. "Mama!" Khatija laughed.
At the park, Khatija tugged toward the tall yellow slide. She climbed the steps all by herself.
Whoosh! She flew down the slide with her arms flying up. Her parents cheered so loudly a dog barked nearby.
That evening, Khatija crawled into bed with her mother. The storybook was open on her lap.
Her mother turned the page. There was a tiny newborn — the very same Khatija.
Khatija snuggled closer. She was no longer a baby — she was three years old.
Her mother closed the book. "Goodnight, my love," she whispered. Khatija slept soundly.