He doesn’t care when I text him that I “literally cannot even cook dinner tonight.” He says, “Well let me take care of that for you then.”
He doesn’t care that I reach for the coffee pot in the morning before I reach for him sometimes. He doesn’t care that I text him frantically when I’m traveling alone and my anxiety gets the best of me. He doesn’t care when I sleep in on Saturdays. He doesn’t care that I sometimes retreat to our bedroom for an hour alone after dinner because I just need to not be needed for awhile.
He doesn’t care that I am a “Piler, not a Filer,” and that my half of our office is ALWAYS a mess. He doesn’t care that I can NEVER find what I need in our giant pantry and he always has to find it for me. He doesn’t care that I get mad too easily and take a chill pill way less often than I should.
He doesn’t care that I don’t WILL NEVER have a “beach bod” and that the dark circles under my eyes are never going away. He doesn’t care that I let my toenails get way too long and that I take a sabbatical from leg-shaving all winter. He thinks I am beautiful.
He cares that I love him. He cares that I love our children. He cares that I love Jesus. He cares that I am ALWAYS doing my best, even when I fall short.
He cares that he is married to the girl he had a crush on in sixth grade. He cares about being my partner, my helper, as I am his.
And I am so, so thankful.
