Some days I'm fed up with this whole diabetes thing-testing, tracking, meal planning. I know, being pregnant and all, tight control more important than ever, but frankly, I'm just tired of it! So, please pardon my little pity party while I rattle off a few things I hate about being a pregnant diabetic.

Constantly testing. I know it's important. I've learned not freak out if the numbers aren't where I want, but to simply take the information and make adjustments as needed. It's the act of watching the clock for the two-hour mark, never leaving the house without my meter, notebook and insulin pen, and pricking my damn finger close to 10 times a day, although most of the time, I just use my arm. I know it's not as accurate, but it's less pain and less mess.

Continually dieting. For once in my life, can't I just eat ice cream? I've spent years and years watching my waistline and now that I can only watch it expand to cartoon proportions, shouldn't I be able to just eat what I want and not worry? Sure, I treat myself a little here and there, but visions of eating everything under the sun-especially when I feel like a bottomless pit anyway-are counter-productive for tight control.

Math. At first, it was pretty simple to figure out my insulin dose. My insulin-carb ratio (I:C) was a simple 1:10. Take 4 units of insulin for 40 grams of carbs. Easy enough. The kind of math any English major can do. Then things started getting complicated. The 1:5 ratio I can handle pretty well, but it's the 1:8 that really trips me up. My husband thinks I'm doing calculus at the dinner table.

Shooting up. You'd think with all the "maternal fat" I put on-I've already exceeded the healthy weight gain guidelines and have three more months to grow-that it would be getting easier to find new injection sites. But no, between my huge belly (that's gotten too hard to comfortably put a needle in) and these monstrous boobs, my view to most prime chub locations is pretty much blocked.

Carb counting. OK, make that carb estimating. Years of dieting and diabetes have given me a pretty good grasp on serving sizes and basic carbs per serving. It's when I leave the safety of my kitchen and find myself without my food scale and measuring cups that I run into trouble. It's one thing going to chain restaurants, where you can review the nutritional information online in advance, it's another going to a local restaurant. I apparently never come remotely close to guessing correctly, since I'm always either closing in on 200 or 60 and dropping-and wishing I had ordered a molten chocolate lava cake to go.

I know this is only temporary. This whole experience has given me a glimpse into what it's like to live an insulin-dependant life and I feel for my type 1 sisters who have it much worse than me. Every day, I am grateful that, non-pregnant, my pancreas still functions and I look forward to my tired islet cells getting back to work soon.