Rated R. Not kidding. I throw more f-bombs in this post than I did in all three of my labors combined. So, if that offends you, you might want to skip this one.

Random shit started here.

Quitting smoking is a lot fucking harder than birthing two kids naturally.

Part One:

When I was 24 years old I was pregnant with my first son. Everything in my life was out of control. I had gone from being a 20 year old swinging single, skinny, sexy, Christian girlfriend to a pregnant, gaining weight by the hour, non-drinking, bitter that birth control wasn’t my friend, converting to Judaism, wife.

I would lie awake at night in cold sweats because I had nightmares of Satan himself chasing me down with a pitchfork. I’m not kidding. That’s how ingrained Christianity was in my head and I didn’t even go to church. Unless you count that one summer when I was forced to go to bible camp. Which was extra special because knowing my parents as they did, they were REAL hell bent on fixin’ me.

So. At 24, I was at a complete fucking loss as to who in the hell I was. Which way do I go? Which way do I go?

In an effort to prove to myself and Satan that I had control over some part of my life, I decided to birth my first son naturally. I could do this. I could be that strong. I mean how hard could it be? It’s just a little pain.

Hard as fuck is the answer. Over twelve grueling hours I breathed, showered, cried, wondered what in the hell I was thinking. I had back massages, I walked the halls, I called friends and begged them to bring me alcohol. Or street drugs. Anything. Just don’t let me get an epidural because DAMMIT I AM IN CONTROL HERE. But. For fuck's sake get rid of this P-A-I-N.

After hours and hours and hours and hours and hours of feeling like a sumo wrestler was slamming me up against a wall and then every two minutes throwing me to the ground and jumping up and down on my stomach came the moment of birth. If you have never pushed a kid out without drugs you are truly missing something. Try it sometime.

I repeated the process with my second. Only that labor lasted a very special eighteen hours.

With ColtonColton aka: Moose, Duece, Colt, CJ
Age: 3
Favorite Word: Fart
Hobbies:  Playing in the dirt, setting off fire alarms at preschool and bossing people around.
Best Qualities:  The sweetest disposition this side of the Mississippi., I had a BIG FAT ASS epidural and sat there filing my nails wondering what in the name of all that was sane had I been thinking birthing two kids naturally.

Part Two:

I started smoking at conception. I am a baby of the 70s. Pregnancy did not stop the party. The day I was born, I started smoking even more as my mother sucked a pack or two down while giving me my bottle, changing my diaper, putting me down for a nap or bathing me.

So. At sixteen years of age when I took the my first real puff of a ciggie, my body threw an internal ticker tape parade because we knew we were onto something special. I smoked and smoked and smoked.

I smoked through the awful teenage years when my stepfather and mother ended up on the front page of the newspaper for the biggest drug bust in the history of our state. I smoked my way through my early twenties as I dated every asshole that side of the Mississippi. I stopped when I got pregnant with KeenanKeenan aka: Kman
Age: 14
"Special" Qualities: Door slamming, stomping and eye rolling (can do it all in one impressive motion).
Best Qualities: The softest kindest heart, hysterical and quite charming when he tries., but then Mr. Smokey Pants and I reacquainted when I began going through my divorce and the subsequent dating of every asshole this side of the Mississippi. (I moved from Indiana to California. Whole new batch.)

To be fair, I also smoked when I was happy. When I was celebrating. When I was relaxing. When I was bored. Not just when I dated assholes.

I have tried quitting many times. But. It never quite worked out. I would get really pissed off because I stubbed my toe or one of my kids was taking too long to poop or because the wind blew at a particular angle that was unpleasant and convince myself that was reason enough to rush to the store and get a pack and try again tomorrow.

For years and years and years this went on. Until. February 7, 2010. The day I kicked my best friend to the curb. I was real nice about it and had a one week party for my friend. I smoked as many of those fuckers as I could get in my system. I had several girl’s nights with my smoking pals so that I had one last moment with them. I drank extra that week just so I could smoke extra. I smoked and smoked and smoked. Because. I was going to smoke no more.

On February 8th, I awoke with a renewed excitement for life. I was officially a non-smoker. One of those cool people that doesn't have to stand outside and smoke at a party. Which brings me to my point. I am now 22 days into my plight and I can officially tell you that I would rather birth a child naturally every week than give up smoking. Because this is that fucking hard. Hold me.