Take Three

This time I managed to go without a smoke for two months.  I was like, totally prepared for it this time.  I was wiser.  I had quit before and failed, so this time I knew what I had to do to quit right.  I knew my weaknesses.  I knew that given the opportunity, I would have a cigarette without even batting an eyelid.  It's obvious to me that I am weak and have no will power. 

(Even as I type this, I am sniffing the air.  I'm hoping that the neighbour will come outside and have a smoke and I'll be able to smell it.  Maybe she might even give me one if I look pitiful enough.)

It's been almost 48 hours.

My friend says that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.

So this time, I'm doing everything exactly the same as before.  I'm going cold turkey.  That's my only plan.

The thing is...I don't so much want to quit this time.  I missed it soooooo much the last time.  I really, really missed it.  Oh, I really missed everything about it.  

But the other day, Q found me smoking and totally freaked out.  Like, we're talking total melt down.  I couldn't calm him down.  He tried to claw my eyes out and rip my clothes off, and I only wish I was exaggerating.  My mom had to drag him away from me kicking and screaming, but not before he grabbed the smoke and broke it into a million different pieces.  The irony is a flashback 27 years ago, when my Auntie June was dying of brain cancer, and I broke all of her cigarettes.  I was horrified that even as she was dying, to weak to leave her bed, she still wanted a smoke.  It's one of my earliest memories.  I was five, just like Q.  Auntie June died shortly thereafter. (Which co-incidentally reminds me of my second earliest memory...my Mother swears it never happened.  She says she would never ask her 5 year old daughter if she wanted to kiss her dead aunt in her casket....I remember otherwise...)  My uncle, a chain-smoker for the majority of his life, has just been diagnosed with a brain tumour.  The reality is overwhelming.

I know that Q is the number one reason why I must quit.  I know that.  I know he needs his Momma until he grows up.  In fact, just as much as I need to be with him and watch him grow.   He is the world to me.  It makes me sick that my addiction to nicotine is stronger than my devotion to Q.  What a terrible, terrible mother.  It's even worse to hear the words out loud.  And that's what Q sees.  His weak momma loving smoking more than him.  Ugh.  It makes me sick. 

Quitting three times in a year and a bit is like deciding you want to gain weight just for the joy of being 30 lbs fatter.  Honestly, I've gained 30lbs.  One day a few weeks back one of the little boys in Q's class comes running up to me, and says, "Mrs. Miller, I know you have a baby in your tummy!!!"  "No, D.  I don't.  I just have a lot of fat in my tummy."  That puts the count at 3.  Three people have asked me when I'm due or if I'm expecting.  One a friend, one a stranger, and one a child.  I've gone from a size 6 to a size 12.  Maybe they're onto something.  The last time I was this size I had a 10lb baby growing inside me.  But horribly, looking in a mirror just gets me even more down in the dumps.  No more chocolate bars?  Well, that just makes me want to smoke.  Ahhhh, now you see my problem. 

I can't even imagine how this time will be different.  But they say third time's a charm...how can you lose with a saying like that?  Third time's a charm...riiiight.