I'm married to a smoker. Those who knew me pre-Husband might find this unbelievable. Believe me, I even find it unbelievable sometimes.
In the beginning, I wasn't thinking about the rest of my life. And then when I was thinking about the rest of my life, I certainly wasn't thinking he would be smoking for the rest of my life. And then came the milestones that I hoped would motivate him. We got married. I got pregnant with Boy1. Boy1 was born. Boy1 turned one. Husband turned 30. Boy1 turned two. I got pregnant with Boy2. Boy2 was born and turned one and then two. Husband turned 35. Boys are now 6 and 3, Husband will be 36 in January and still nothing.
My attitude over the years has gone from indulgent to compassionate to frustrated to pissed off. Seriously, I CANNOT believe he still smokes. That said, I don't nag or plead or even talk about it very much other than to say, "I cannot believe you still smoke."
He doesn't smoke in the house. He's on the terrace to smoke, even in the rain. I have no sympathy. He gets colds and they last for weeks on end. I have no sympathy. Some residual compassion, perhaps, because I know it totally sucks to have to quit.
Up until this weekend, I had no sympathy and basically, no hope. He tried to stop once, a few years ago, and totally ruined our vacation. He hates the fact that he smokes, he feels totally enslaved to cigarettes, and, most importantly, powerless to change. Anyway, this weekend, I was reading an article in the newspaper about new medications and mentioned that there would be a new anti-tabacco drug on the market here in January. He snatched, literally, that newspaper right out of my hands. I now have hope.