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Being a mother has given me two kids along with a TV show (plus a spin-off). Initially, as I stepped into this world, it was quite clear it constituted a chaotic environment, and ripe for exploitation. Trying to find your community while having very little shared interests with other parents, except for babies in the same stage, is very difficult, yet also rich in inspiration for comedy.

Throughout the years, I'd write down small incidents or insights that made me chuckle: showing up to a kids’ party wearing the same outfit as a father there; observing with surprise when a mother requested an usher to increase the temperature inside the theater on a school trip to see The Lion King; that parent whose advice for her kids if they got lost in a crowd was “think like a paedophile” (this was incorporated – after getting approval – during the spooky special of Motherland).

My collection of notes evolved into the TV programme Motherland, and, more recently, Amandaland. However, now my little inspos are gone, and I don’t know what to do on my own. They both began university recently (at opposite ends across the nation). I had been fearing this moment, and as a single mum I’m finding it unbearable. Our home is so quiet. The kitchen stays tidy always and there are obstacles to stumble over in the hallway. Both departed. Two leaving, none remaining. It’s so sad.

Saying Goodbye to My Daughter

My girl was the first to go. This was a slick operation. Three hours along those motorways with her hijacking the music and whacking me every time she spotted a yellow car. We had an appointment to pick up her access, and between the two of us we lugged her stuff up a couple of flights to her new home; a 6.5-sq metre room containing essentials: a desk, seat, bed, cupboards and a board (no drawing pins). It was quite clean apart from a cereal piece I noticed in the wardrobe. Once I applied all my God-given strength to get that bedding to fit her small double mattress (I ought to have verified the size), and unpacked an awful lot of my clothes and makeup which she had taken from my bedroom, the moment arrived to say goodbye. The image of her walking away (wearing my footwear) hit me in the stomach.

Lucy Punch and Anna Maxwell Martin during an earlier season from the series.

Then Came My Son’s Turn

Seven days after, there was a five-hour journey up the M6 including a night's stay at a reserved budget hotel filled with sentimental households in similar situations. Campus was rammed with loaded vehicles containing bedding, air fryers and nervous scholars attempting earnestly to hide their nerves. I hadn’t learned my lesson from the previous week and nearly fainted, straining like I was in labour to place another single sheet over another small double mattress. Also forgot drawing pins. I didn’t want to cramp my son’s style by lingering, greeting to his neighbours, so we had a solid hug and I managed to plant an affectionate peck without inflicting any discomfort to him at all. He waved, then disappeared into his building, jangling his keys like he’d just bought his first house.

While departing, I saw a group of young adults displaying signs from their various societies stating things like BEEP FOR NETBALL and HONK FOR WATERSPORTS, so I honked and they cheered and I cried during much of the journey back to my house without anyone to hand me a salt and vinegar Disco.

Dealing With the Emptiness While Planning Forward

When I got home, I had stopped crying. I felt utterly bereft, then I switched on the hall light and its light came loose from the fixture and the cat ran in and puked up a small nose with a tail. I walked the dog to the drugstore that day to obtain his emergency medication for his lobster allergy. (Though I’m quite sure he’ll manage in steering clear for the next few years). That stroll led me by their former elementary school. The sound of the little children playing in the playground started me off again and I had to dig deep to steady myself as I said my son’s name, collecting his prescription.

I owe so much to my children. Motherland wouldn’t exist without them. During the initial Motherland Christmas special, Kevin is testing Minecraft (said as Mein-Kraft) to determine whether it's appropriate for his girls. I got much of the script from my son and his experience with his virtual home burned down and his pigs stolen by his so-called friend. I’m hoping this next chapter of parenting will provide another wave of anecdotes I may utilize in my writing, even though things calm down. Mothers enroll in craft classes while the dads face their transitions.

Reportedly, Gordon Ramsay used his boy's underwear after he dropped him off for the first time. I am sad but I think I'm okay avoiding their undergarments. There are support groups and therapists that specialise in this parental condition however I’ve signed up for netball on Tuesdays and Thursdays and I’m going to have a good old sort-out our home ready for when their return during the holidays. Let’s hope they bring home lots of material!

• The author works as a scribe and show creator.