I'm a quitter.

I quit smoking last Friday. OK, so I've said I was going to quit before. But this time I mean it. Let me clarify one thing: I'm a cigarette-a-day smoker. I smoke one or two or three, depending on my stress level that day. (Oh, and also dependent upon the number of alcoholic beverages, but that's another vice entirely.) And I quit cold turkey COMPLETELY, both times I was pregnant, the moment I was told. But I always went back to it. I don't know why. Maybe it's because I'm weak. Or that I just don't care.

Anyway, this time I've told the children that I'm quitting, which makes it more real. My daughter cries when she sees a cigarette in my hands, partly because I've warned her of the dangers of smoking, and partly because of all the scare-tactic ads she sees on TV and hears on the radio. She thinks I'm going to have smoke coming out of a slit in my neck any day now, and have a need for that creepy buzzer thing that I have to hold to my throat in order to talk. She's scared to death.

So I did something this weekend to help me be successful this time: I created "The Reason I'm Quitting" wall. It's an entire wall in my bedroom with pictures of my children. They helped me put it together, they knew the reason we were creating it, and they felt special. Which I need them to know, that they're special. And smoking doesn't really show them how much they mean. In fact, it's kind of a slap in the face. "I know it's harmful and can kill me, but I'm going to do it anyway because I want to." What the fuck is that?

I'm not trying to judge all smokers - just me. I know it's not going to be easy, but every morning, when I wake up and look towards my bedroom window and all its light, I now also see all the reason in the world to quit. My two beautiful babes, God bless their little hearts.