actions speak louder than words

Sometimes I wish Gracie could talk to me--to tell me when she's hungry, tired, in pain, or otherwise afflicted. Sometimes I wish she could tell me when I've done a good job--when I gave her a cheerio at the precise moment she needed a snack, put her in her crib just when she was feeling ready to snooze, quelled a fear, or made a funny. However, any frustration I feel by the lack of communication is assuaged when I walk into the house after a long day at work, Daddy puts her down on the floor, and she crawls toward me at break-neck pace. When she reaches me--while I'm still at the door kicking off my shoes and hanging my coat--she inevitably begins to climb up my legs, squealing, with a grin on her face. I pick her up, and she lets me kiss her cheeks as many times as I want. In that moment, I don't need Grace to talk to me. There's nothing left to say.