It’s time for a true confession. I am a smoker. I started when I was 15, afraid to be left out when all my “cool” friends left the cafeteria for the smoking area at school. Some of the kids were able to take it or leave it, but not me. I loved to smoke and took right to it.

When I found out I was pregnant with At-man, it was a bit of a surprise. D and I had been married for a couple of years and we knew we wanted children at some point, but we had not planned on starting to try until the following fall. I was at work one day when it occurred to me that I hadn’t had my monthly visitor in quite a spell and during lunch I headed to the drug store for a test. I took it in the company restroom, saw the little blue line, and immediately went outside to smoke my last cigarette.

Knowing that I was affecting someone other than myself, someone who could care less about looking cool, made it fairly easy to stop. I chewed endless sticks of Juicy Fruit and made it through the entire pregnancy. After At-man was born I tried for months to breast feed but he continued to loose weight so it was to formula we went. I had been in a little “baby bubble” for a year, but then something happened. We went out to a bar. The lure of smoking was too much to handle and I justified the entire event by telling myself I was just to be a casual smoker. Since I had to quit breast feeding I was only harming myself at this point. Unfortunately I am about as talented at casual smoking as I am at singing (notice you have never spotted me on Idol). I began stepping outside for a smoke at night after a particularly frustrating day with the baby (everyday), then even nap time became a smoke break.

I quit again with Em, but due to the fact that I can sometimes be a complete idiot, I started yet again. Em ended up in the hospital at one month old for some sort of “mystery virus” and it was too much stress. A glass of wine and a smoke after we put the kids to bed made it all better.

So now we are here. Whenever I am at the office, when the kids nap, when they go to bed…it’s time to smoke, and it’s getting hard. I hate myself for being short with them simply because I need a cigarette. I hate that when they wake up during the night I go to them smelling like the inside of a bar. Since I never smoke in front of, or around the boys it’s been easy to remain in denial. At-man is getting old enough that he will start to notice soon, and if he ever catches me it will break my heart. I don’t ever want him to think I feel that smoking is more important to me than being around to see him and Em grow up. Why do I keep doing this to myself?

I run 5 miles a day, most days. Besides affecting my kids and my health, this habit is impeding my progress in a sport which I love. I hope to finish my first marathon this January. I do not intend to run the entire race while dreaming of the smoke waiting for me at the finish line.

Why am I telling you all this? Well, I have chosen May 25th as my quit day, and by telling you, I am making it official. I would really be showing my ass if I screw up.

I know this isn’t my usual humorous post, but more are on the way. Sometimes I don’t have time to post because I spend my entire night on the back deck with a cigarette in hand. With all this smokey nonsense out of the way, I will be writing War and Peace length entries on a fairly regular basis. Stay Tuned.

Please don’t think poorly of me. I hate that I smoke enough for everyone. All that I ask is that you, the internet hold me to this promise. Tomorrow is my last day…