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Motherhood has given me a pair of children and a television series (and an offshoot). When I first entered that realm, it seemed quite clear this was a chaotic environment, and perfect for exploitation. Trying to find your tribe while having absolutely nothing in common with other parents, except for babies in the same stage, is very difficult, but also full of inspiration for humor.

Over the years, I'd write down small incidents or insights that brought a smile: showing up to a children's celebration wearing the same outfit as one of the dads; watching in amazement as a mum asked a staff member to increase the temperature inside the theater during a class outing to watch the famous musical; that parent who suggested for her kids should they become separated in a crowd was “think like a paedophile” (we used this – after getting approval – in the Halloween episode of Motherland).

My document of observations grew into the TV programme the show, and lately, Amandaland. However, now my little inspos are gone, and I don’t know what to do with myself. They both began university recently (on different sides of the country). 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 with no trip hazards along the corridor. Both departed. Two for none. It’s so sad.

Saying Goodbye to My Daughter

My daughter went initially to leave. It was an efficient process. A three-hour drive down the M11 and M25 as she took over the music and whacking me every time she spotted one of those vehicles. We were given an appointment to collect her access, and together we carried her belongings up several stairs to her new home; a compact space with the basics: a desk, chair, bed, cupboards and a board (minus pins). It was quite clean apart from a Cheerio I noticed inside the closet. After I used all my God-given strength to get the single sheet onto her small double mattress (I ought to have verified the size), and unpacked an awful lot of my garments and cosmetics that she had pilfered from my bedroom, it was time for farewells. The sight of her walking away (in my boots) struck me deeply.

Lucy Punch and Anna Maxwell Martin in a 2017 episode from the series.

Then Came My Boy's Departure

Seven days after, there was a five-hour journey up the M6 with an overnight stop at a reserved budget hotel filled with emotional families in similar situations. The university grounds were crowded with loaded vehicles containing bedding, air fryers and anxious students attempting earnestly to mask their anxiety. I hadn’t learned my lesson from earlier and nearly fainted, straining like I was in labour to place another single sheet over another similar bed. Additionally omitted drawing pins. I didn’t want to cramp my son’s style by lingering, greeting to his neighbours, thus we shared a firm embrace and I managed to plant an affectionate peck without causing any discomfort to him at all. He waved, then vanished inside his residence, rattling his keys like he’d just bought his initial home.

While departing, I saw a bunch of students displaying signs representing clubs that said things like SUPPORT NETBALL and HONK FOR WATERSPORTS, so I sounded the horn and they applauded and I wept during much of the journey back home without anyone to hand me a salt and vinegar Disco.

Coping With the Emptiness While Looking Ahead

When I got home, I had stopped crying. I experienced deep loss, then when I turned on the corridor lamp and the bulb came loose from the fixture and the cat ran in and regurgitated a tiny snout with a tail. I took the pet out to the pharmacy that day to obtain his emergency medication due to his shellfish reaction. (Though I’m quite sure he’ll manage in steering clear in the coming time). That stroll took me past the kids’ old primary school. The noise from the young pupils playing in the playground started me off again and I had to dig deep to control my lip wobble as I said my son’s name, collecting his prescription.

I am deeply grateful for my kids. Motherland wouldn’t exist without them. During the initial Motherland Christmas special, Kevin is testing the game (pronounced Mein-Kraft) to see if it's appropriate for his girls. I derived much of the script from my son and his encounters with his virtual home set on fire and animals taken by an acquaintance. I aspire this new phase as a parent will provide another wave of stories I can use for my work, although it seems things calm down. Mothers enroll in craft classes while the dads have their midlife crises.

Apparently, the chef wore his son’s underpants following the drop-off initially. I am sad yet I believe I'm okay not wearing my kids’ underwear. Exist community help and counsellors focused on empty nest syndrome however I’ve signed up in the sport on Tuesdays and Thursdays and I’m going to have a good old sort-out our home ready for when they’re back for Christmas. Let’s hope they bring home ample inspiration!

• Helen Serafinowicz works as a scribe and television producer.