6 years ago today I smoked my last cigarette. Aged just 20, I'd been smoking for over 8 years, and had a 40-60 a day habit. Living with a former pothead, working behind a bar and at Uni - it was a comforting addiction and one that was a part of every aspect of my life.
6 years and 1 month ago, I lost my first baby. I had always assumed that once pregnant, the cravings wouldn't seem so strong. That the need to protect my unborn child would be stronger. I was wrong. I tried to quit when I found out, even cut down to a few a week.
Then she died. I blamed myself. For not drinking enough water, for not sleeping enough, for not eating right, for dancing to much and, of course, for smoking. I doubt very much now that it was 'my fault' - but there's nothing like mothers guilt. THAT was strong enough to beat the cravings. 6 months and two pregnancies later, I was carrying Seth.
I've beaten an addiction that threatened the chance of my children having the healthiest lives, and mother, possible before. I shall do it again.
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