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So we didn't get to tell anyone our news. But we didn't have to un-tell our news to many people either.

About a month after my miscarriage, I started taking my son to a church playgroup. There are four people in this playgroup.

Two of them are pregnant. One is due five days after I was supposed to be having my own baby.

I never planned on telling them my secret. This was my own.

So I've been sitting there week after week listening to the two women complaining about all things pregnancy -- the weight gain, lack of sleep, discomfort. It hurts. Really hurts.

But I don't go to playgroup for me. I go for my son.

Two weeks ago, the other member of our group who's not pregnant began sharing her story about losing her baby at 16 weeks. I tried to keep it together so I wouldn't share my own pain.

My secret. My secret. Don't tell them.

I tried not to show my emotions. It was too much, though.

I took my prenatal vitamins every day. I stopped dyeing my hair. I cut off all sodas. I only drank buckets of water.

I'm a purist in the months leading up to trying to conceive, when I'm pregnant and while I'm breastfeeding. I won't even take an aspirin.

For my first pregnancy, my healthy mindset produced a beautiful baby boy. For my second pregnancy, we made it to 13 weeks and 1 day before receiving the bad news that the baby had passed away.