Smoking

I smoked at my friends house on Friday.

I didn't tell Mr. Husband about it.

See 15 months ago Mr. husband stopped smoking after 10+ years of smoking. When he decided that he had stopped smoking, it meant that I had also stopped smoking. I wasn't unsupportive of this idea but I didn't realize the exact ramifications of this decision.

I wasn't ready to stop smoking. See I like it. I like it a whole lot. It didn't stop me from enjoying my life and the things around me. I really was able to stop whenever I wanted to. An example of this would be with both of my pregnancies. I stopped smoking before I was preggo with #1 which really was by luck because he wasn't the most planned of pregnancies and I stopped a few months before we conceived the twins. It wasn't hard for me to stop. It was a lot harder for me to do without my Prozac.

But going for so long and knowing that I wasn't going to be smoking for maybe ever, that wasn't a very comfortable feeling. See smoking to me is the same as a casual drink for others. It relaxes me without the hangover. I'm sure that I could over indulge but I don't care too.

I didn't tell Mr. Husband about Friday because I was worried that he would be mad at me. He was ready to make a change but it's the same way that an alcoholic doesn't drink anymore. Not because they don't want to, oh man, do they want to. But because they know that it's better for them.

I hated not telling him. Not because I wanted to rub it in his face but because I hated the fact that I was withholding information from him. I would want to know if he had done something that would potentially make me mad. It's better to be honest and work on it then be dishonest and harbor feelings.

He wasn't mad when I told him. He has informed me that he will be poking fun of me for awhile.