An anniversary

Today marks 2 years since the last time that I smoked a cigarette. It also marks the day that I found out I was pregnant with Attila. Obviously, that is no coincidence. I'd tried to quit before, but it never stuck. I read somewhere that it takes the average smoker 7 attempts to finally quit. I think this was my fourth or fifth try. I started smoking when I was 21 and smoked on and off for 10 years. Wow, I've never really thought about it that way before- 10 years (!?!) Although I was mostly a social smoker, there were phases when I was pretty habitual about it. Like the job I had where the boss lady would go to the restaurant downstairs 2-3 times a day for a smoke break. I always went too since that's where the best gossip was, and it
meant I got a break from my boring job. I also smoked in the morning before even getting to that job, and again at night when leaving that job. Not to mention at the happy hours and lunches involved in the job. That was not a good couple of years.

It's a gross and disgusting habit and I finally hate the smell of it, especially the stale smell that clings to clothes and hair on other smokers-(can you believe I used to think that no one could tell I'd been smoking?) but still, even now, I sometimes want to smoke. Every time I see someone in a movie smoke, I want to smoke. If someone is smoking around me, I want to smoke too. If I am stressed out, the first thing I think of is smoking. I can't explain it and I can't turn it off. I hope that eventually goes away, but I fear that it won't. At least now I know that even if I do give in, it no longer tastes good so even a drag is hardly worth it.

After I quit, I kept one cigarette in the freezer for a long time. In case of emergency. It made me feel better to know it was there if something came up and I really really needed it. It sat there for a few months, then one day, I really really wanted that cigarette. Dude was away on business and I was stressed out over an awful day and thought I needed it to cope. I opened the pack and inside on the cover, in blue marker, my sister had written "Don't do it". (She had dog sat for us a few weeks earlier and apparently came across my secret stash.) It stopped me in my tracks- and also made me cry like a baby. I called her instead. Now I just have to get her to quit- though she is a lot more stubborn than I am.

I wish I had some advice on how to quit- but I don't. It's focking hard. When push came to shove, I could never do it just for me. My only motivation was her.