I didn’t realise how loud silence could be until those first weeks after my positive test. The days between appointments stretched forever, and every twinge felt like a question I couldn’t answer. I wanted proof my tiny passenger was okay—right now, not in two weeks.
I set myself some gentle rules to cope. First, I reminded myself daily: reassurance, not diagnosis. I booked my routine antenatal appointments and promised I’d call my midwife if anything worried me—pain, bleeding, fluid loss, or just that gut feeling something wasn’t right. Knowing I had a plan calmed the spiral a little.
I did buy a home doppler, and I treated it like a moment of connection, not a test. I waited until around 10–12 weeks when hearing something is more likely. A small puddle of gel, slow little arcs, volume low. If we didn’t catch the heartbeat within a minute or two, we stopped and tried another day. On the days we found it, that bright whoosh-whoosh softened the edges of the week. We saved a tiny clip for the grandparents, and what used to feel like anxious waiting turned into a shared, happy milestone.
A few other things helped:
- Boundaries on googling. I picked one trusted source and closed everything else.
- A tiny checklist. Eat, rest, move a little, breathe. Small wins counted.
- Sharing the load. I let my partner know when bedtime fears were creeping in so he could keep me company—even if that just meant tea and an early night.
- Journalling the good. A sentence a day: what made me smile, what my body did well, what I’m grateful for.
When the kicks came later on, they became my favourite kind of reassurance. Until then, I tried to make peace with uncertainty—hard, but possible. If you’re in those quiet weeks now, you’re not alone. Ask your midwife the “silly” questions (there aren’t any), use tools sensibly, and be kind to your nervous system. The early chapters can feel fragile and endless—but they’re only chapters, not the whole story.