Puff, puff, pass...

Lately I've really been on D's ass to quit smoking. We both smoked when we met, and at one point this last year I quit while he continued to puff. I urged him to quit, too, but was secretly proud that I could quit and he couldn't, and I enjoyed telling other people that I QUIT when he would go to light up. After about 6 months, sadly, with my tail tucked between my legs, I began smoking again. I was up to about 3/4 of a pack a day when I learned I was pregnant, and I have not even TOUCHED a smoke since the two little pink lines revealed themselves on my home pregnancy test. I always knew I'd be able to quit in the blink of an eye if/when I got pregnant. The thought of my unborn child inhaling something so awful makes me shiver with disgust.

Now I'm nagging and bitching and moaning for D to quit more than ever. Not only do I not want him to smoke when the baby is born, and of course for the obvious health reasons, but because I AM DYING FOR A CIGARETTE. I won't light up. That's out of the question. But he needs to quit. I really think he should have quit with me. Perhaps he needs more time, and maybe he can take it because he is not growing our child inside of him, but GOOD GOD MAN... at least TRY! Am I being too hard on him? Expecting too much? Because in my mind, if I can quit, he can too. And I no longer bask in my glorious willpower, my ability to quit cold turkey. Now I'm just plain pissed that I had to give up my bad habit alone, and he gets to keep on puffing away. Growing up, we all had those friends with parents (or even our own parents) who smoked like chimneys. I so don't want to be those parents.