Barack’s Rock

Since then, she has largely left the details of the campaign to her husband and his political team. Michelle does not sit in on strategy sessions, vet speeches or spend hours on the phone fund-raising. "I hate fund-raising," she tells NEWSWEEK. "Haaaaate it. Hate, hate it." Politics and policy animate her—like her husband, she turned away from a lucrative law career to work in public service. One late night in Iowa, she stayed up on the campaign bus, waxing to NEWSWEEK about the dangers of cynicism in politics. Barack, exhausted, was flaked out on the couch half-dozing. But she has no secret dreams of seeking office herself. When a reporter recently joked that she could run for Barack's Senate seat if he were elected president, Michelle made a face of mock disgust. "Ugh," she grimaced. "No, thank you."

Part of Michelle Obama's appeal—she routinely draws audiences of 1,000-plus supporters even when she's campaigning on her own—is that she comes across as so normal despite the withering glare of a national campaign. As a political spouse, she is somewhat unusual. She isn't the traditional Stepford booster, smiling vacantly at her husband and sticking to a script of carefully vetted blandishments. Nor is she a surrogate campaign manager, ordering the staff around and micromanaging the candidate's every move. She travels the country giving speeches and attending events (her mother watches the kids when she's on the road), but resists staying away for more than one night at a stretch. When the couple catch up several times a day on the phone, the talk is more likely to be about their daughters than the latest poll projections. Michelle has made it her job to ensure that Barack, who now lives full time inside the surreal campaign bubble of adoring crowds and constant attention, doesn't himself lose sight of what's normal.

Onstage, Obama has introduced Michelle as "my rock"—the person who keeps him focused and grounded. In her words, she is just making sure he is "keeping it real." She does this in part by tethering him to the more mundane responsibilities of a husband and father. She insists that Barack fly home from wherever he is to attend ballet recitals and parent-teacher conferences. When the couple host political gatherings at their home in Chicago's Hyde Park, Michelle asks everyone to bring along their children. To help bridge the physical distance between father and daughters, Michelle recently bought two MacBook laptops, one for Barack and one for the kids, so they could have video chats over the Internet. Last Thursday, she cleared his schedule so he could return home to Chicago and spend Valentine's Day with her and the girls.

Her reluctance to immerse herself in the minutiae of the campaign should not be mistaken for a lack of desire to win. Deeply competitive by nature—growing up, Michelle stayed clear of team sports because she couldn't stand the idea of losing—she wants the White House as much as he does. From her vantage point outside the day-to-day chaos of the campaign, she serves as a source of official calm. One senior adviser, who asked for anonymity talking about a private meeting, recalls fretting to Michelle early on that Obama's support among Southern black voters wasn't picking up quickly enough. Michelle told him to relax. "Don't worry," she said. "It will be just like [Obama's Senate campaign in] Illinois. The numbers will all move our way." As it turned out, she was right.

She played a similar part after the surprise loss in New Hampshire, where polls had Obama leading Hillary Clinton by wide margins. It was Michelle who delivered the pep talk to the candidate's dispirited aides waiting anxiously outside the couple's hotel suite. She cautioned them against listening to the pundits and polls: "We need to send a message to all our supporters to not take a single thing for granted."

Michelle then turned her ministrations to her husband. As he walked onstage that night to deliver his concession speech, she took his hand and led him around the front of the podium so he could recharge himself with the cheers of the crowd. She paused with him for a moment, then patted him on the cheek and left the stage.