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Being a mother has given me a pair of children and a TV show (plus an offshoot). When I first entered this world, it seemed very apparent it constituted a mad world, and ripe for exploitation. Attempting to locate your tribe while having very little in common with other parents, other than babies in the same stage, is very difficult, yet also rich in inspiration for comedy.

Throughout the years, I'd write down little moments or insights that brought a smile: showing up to a children's celebration wearing the same outfit as a father there; watching in amazement as a mum requested an usher to increase the temperature inside the theater on a school trip to watch the famous musical; the mum who suggested to her children should they become separated in a crowd was “think like a paedophile” (we used this – after getting approval – during the spooky special of Motherland).

My document of observations evolved into the TV programme the show, and lately, Amandaland. However, now my little inspos are gone, and I'm unsure how to proceed on my own. They both started uni last week (on different sides of the country). I had been fearing this moment, and being a solo parent I’m finding it too much to handle. Our home has become silent. The kitchen is permanently clean with no obstacles to stumble over in the hallway. Both gone. Two for none. It’s so sad.

Saying Goodbye to My Daughter

My daughter was the first to leave. This was a slick operation. A three-hour drive along those motorways as she took over the playlist and whacking me whenever she saw a yellow car. We were given a time slot to collect her keys, and together we lugged her belongings up several stairs to her dorm; a 6.5-sq metre room containing essentials: a work surface, chair, sleeping area, storage and a board (minus pins). It appeared tidy apart from a Cheerio I found inside the closet. After I used my full effort to get that bedding to fit her bed (I should have checked the size), and removed an awful lot of my clothes and cosmetics which she had taken out of my room, it was time for farewells. The image of her departing (wearing my footwear) hit me deeply.

Lucy Punch and Anna Maxwell Martin during an earlier season of Motherland.

Then Came My Boy's Departure

A week later, it was a five-hour journey up the M6 with an overnight stop in a fully booked budget hotel bursting with emotional families on the same path. The university grounds were crowded with packed cars full of bedding, kitchen gadgets and nervous scholars desperately trying to hide their nerves. I hadn’t learned from prior experience from earlier and nearly fainted, straining like I was in labour to place more bedding over another similar bed. Also forgot drawing pins. I didn’t want restricting my son’s style by hanging around, greeting to his neighbours, thus we shared a solid hug and I succeeded to sneak in a kiss on his cheek without inflicting any discomfort to him at all. He waved, then disappeared into his building, rattling his keys as if purchasing his initial home.

While departing, there were a bunch of young adults displaying signs from their various societies stating things like SUPPORT NETBALL and HONK FOR WATERSPORTS, so I sounded the horn and they applauded and I cried for most of the five-hour drive to my house without anyone to pass me a salt and vinegar Disco.

Dealing With The Void While Planning Forward

Upon returning, I had stopped crying. I experienced deep loss, then when I turned on the hall light and the bulb popped out of the socket and the feline entered and puked up a small nose and a tail. I walked the dog to the drugstore today to obtain my son’s backup EpiPen due to his shellfish reaction. (Though I’m quite sure he will succeed to avoid lobster for the next few years). That stroll took me past the kids’ old primary school. The noise of the little children having fun outside started me off again and I struggled to control my lip wobble while stating his name, collecting his prescription.

I owe so much for my kids. Motherland wouldn’t exist absent their influence. In our first Motherland Christmas special, Kevin is testing the game (said as Mein-Kraft) to see if it's appropriate for his daughters. I got much of the script from my son and his encounters with his virtual home set on fire and his pigs stolen by his so-called friend. I’m hoping this next chapter as a parent will deliver further instances of stories I may utilize in my writing, even though things calm down. Mothers enroll for upholstery courses while the dads have their midlife crises.

Apparently, the chef wore his son’s underpants following the drop-off for the first time. I feel sorrow but I think I'm okay avoiding their undergarments. Exist community help and counsellors that specialise in empty nest syndrome however I've enrolled in the sport those weekdays and I’m going to tidy thoroughly our home preparing for they’re back for Christmas. Let’s hope they bring home lots of material!

• The author is a writer and show creator.