By Charlotte Hilton Andersen, REDBOOK
Miscarrying a baby at 17 weeks isn't terribly common. When all your friends (and the 16-year-old at the mall) are seemingly pregnant or bouncing bubbly newborns, losing a wanted baby can make you feel alone in a world of Huggies commercials and stroller parks. Of course, not everyone had a new child or one on the way. To my grieving mind, I was like the kid on The Sixth Sense, except instead of seeing dead people, I saw pregnant ladies.
In the ecstasy of new pregnancy, I'd eagerly signed up for a local group for expectant mothers. Together, we had morning sickness, tossed around baby names, and read up on which piece of fruit our baby resembled this week. And, of course, we had due dates within a month of each other. Until we didn't. When my husband and I found out our baby had suddenly stopped developing, the hospital sent us home to wait for "nature to take its course." My new friends could not relate; they treated me like I'd
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