I sit, watching him work, for me. He is working his ass off . . . for me and for us and for our family—all of us.
I wait to find out whether or not all of that hard work will pay off. I hope, for all of us, that it will. If it doesn't work this round, I know it will eventually work, not just because it has to, but because he always makes it work. This cat lands on his feet.
I love him, how hard he works, and how much he loves me, and how much he loves us, and the way he can shut out the whole world to focus on the singular task of taking care of us and trying to make this project we're working on come to fruition.
Stressing is something that comes with the territory of new chapters, making grown-up decisions, and leaps, and I cannot begin to express how much easier it is to share that stress with a person who gets it, who gets me, and who loves all of me.
(He's the one in the brown hat—in case you're wondering.)