My daughter can't say "I love you,"
But she has a lot of other ways to let me know.
I see it when she holds up her fingers to sign it,
in the way her brown eyes crinkle up at the corners when she smiles,
and when she claps excitedly when I walk in the door.
It's obvious as she crawls toward me and climbs in my lap,
when she puts her hands in the air for me to tickle her under her arms,
and then as she starts laughing before I even touch her.
There's no question when she gives me sweet little hugs
or pat-pat-pats my back,
and when she wrinkles her nose at me.
I know what she is saying when she blows me kisses
and plops down on me with a thud,
or when she places her little pudgy hand in mine.
No, my daughter can't say "I love you,"
But she doesn't need to.
She tells me every day.