Friday marked one year since my mum died. (When I mentioned the anniversary of her death would fall on Good Friday, Fin's comment was, "She's in good company." Indeed. Not going to hold my breath for a similar outcome, though.)

A year. How is that possible? It seems absurd. And yet, it was also a year ago this week that I told you all I was pregnant, and I only need to look at the squirming, rolling, babbling little creature in front of me to know that time has, in fact, passed. Funny how it does that.

The day itself was okay. I've found that significant dates - her birthday, Christmas, Mother's Day - have been relatively painless, all things considered. Perhaps because I brace myself for weeks in advance, school myself to be strong, get through it, self-medicate with extra baby cuddles. New Year's Eve was hard, harder than Christmas. Didn't see that one coming.

But really it's the random moments that get you. The moments when you're sitting in the John Lewis café and glance across to see another young mum with a new baby, about your age, sharing a scone and a laugh with her own mother and suddenly you're crying and pretending you're not and cursing your own stupidity for leaving yourself exposed, for thinking you're safe, you're okay, you're coping, you're fine. Damn you, John Lewis café, damn you and your overpriced scones.

This year hasn't been all sadness and breakdowns over scones, though. Far from it. So here's an egg wearing a flower crown, because why the hell not. Now I'm going to go and eat an entire Cadburys Wispa egg AND two whole Wispa bars for breakfast and it will be physically impossible to feel anything but joy. And mildly sick.

Happy Easter, you wonderful people.

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Image: Flax and Twine