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Being a mother has given me a pair of children along with a TV show (and an offshoot). Initially, as I stepped into this world, it was very apparent this was a chaotic environment, and perfect for the picking. Trying to find your community when you have absolutely nothing in common with your fellow parents, other than babies in the same stage, is very difficult, yet also rich in inspiration for humor.

Throughout the years, I'd write down small incidents or insights that made me chuckle: showing up to a children's celebration wearing the same outfit as a father there; watching in amazement as a mum asked a staff member to turn the heating up inside the theater during a class outing to see the famous musical; that parent who suggested for her kids if they got lost amidst people involved "thinking like a predator" (this was incorporated – after getting approval – during the spooky special in the show).

My collection of observations evolved into the TV programme Motherland, and lately, Amandaland. However, now my little inspos have left, and I don’t know what to do on my own. They both started uni recently (at opposite ends of the country). I was dreading this moment, and as a single mum I’m finding it too much to handle. The house is so quiet. The kitchen stays tidy always and there are trip hazards along the corridor. Both departed. Two for none. It's truly heartbreaking.

Saying Goodbye With My Girl

My girl was the first to leave. It was an efficient process. Three hours along those motorways with her hijacking the music and whacking me whenever she spotted one of those vehicles. We were given an appointment to collect her keys, and between the two of us we carried her stuff up several stairs to her dorm; a compact space with the basics: a work surface, seat, sleeping area, cupboards and noticeboard (no drawing pins). It was quite clean apart from a Cheerio I noticed in the wardrobe. Once I applied my full effort to fit the single sheet onto her small double mattress (I ought to have verified this), and unpacked an awful lot of my clothes and makeup which she had taken from my bedroom, the moment arrived for farewells. The sight of her walking away (wearing my footwear) struck me in the stomach.

The actresses during an earlier season of Motherland.

Then Came My Boy's Departure

A week later, it was five hours up the M6 with an overnight stop at a reserved budget hotel bursting with emotional families in similar situations. The university grounds were crowded with loaded vehicles full of duvets, air fryers and nervous scholars desperately trying to hide their nerves. I failed to learn from prior experience from earlier and nearly fainted, exerting as if giving birth to get more bedding on a further similar bed. Additionally omitted drawing pins. I wished to avoid restricting my son’s style by hanging around, greeting those nearby, so we had a firm embrace and I succeeded to sneak in an affectionate peck without causing any discomfort to him at all. He gestured, then vanished inside his residence, rattling his keys as if purchasing his initial home.

While departing, there were a bunch of students displaying signs from their various societies stating phrases such as BEEP FOR NETBALL and HONK FOR WATERSPORTS, so I honked and they cheered and I cried for most of the five-hour drive to my house with nobody to hand me a salt and vinegar Disco.

Coping With The Void While Planning Forward

Upon returning, I had stopped crying. I felt utterly bereft, then when I turned on the hall light and the bulb popped out of the socket and the cat ran in and regurgitated a tiny snout with a tail. I took the pet out to the drugstore today to collect his emergency medication due to his shellfish reaction. (Although I'm confident he will succeed to avoid lobster in the coming time). The walk took me past the kids’ old primary school. The sound from the young pupils having fun outside started me off again and I struggled to control my lip wobble as I said his name, collecting his prescription.

I am deeply grateful for my kids. The show wouldn't be without them. In our first Motherland Christmas special, a character tries the game (pronounced Mein-Kraft) to determine whether it’s suitable for his daughters. I derived much of the script from my boy and his encounters 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 for my work, even though things calm down. Mothers enroll in craft classes while the dads face their transitions.

Apparently, the chef wore his son’s underpants following the drop-off for the first time. I am sad yet I believe I'm okay not wearing their undergarments. Exist support groups and counsellors focused on empty nest syndrome but instead I’ve signed up for netball on Tuesdays and Thursdays and I plan to tidy thoroughly our home preparing for they’re back for Christmas. I trust they return with lots of material!

• The author is a writer and television producer.