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Motherhood provided me with a pair of children along with a TV show (plus a spin-off). When I first stepped into this world, it was very apparent this was a mad world, and perfect for exploitation. Attempting to locate your tribe when you have absolutely nothing shared interests with other tribespeople, other than infants in the same stage, is very difficult, but also rich in ideas for humor.

Throughout the years, I would write down little moments or insights that brought a smile: arriving at a children's celebration dressed exactly like a father there; watching in amazement when a mother asked a staff member to increase the temperature in the auditorium during a class outing to watch the famous musical; the mum who suggested for her kids if they got lost amidst people involved "thinking like a predator" (we used this – with permission – during the spooky special in the show).

My collection of notes evolved into the television series the show, and, more recently, the newer series. However, now my sources of inspiration have left, and I'm unsure what to do with myself. Both of them started uni recently (on different sides across the nation). I was dreading this moment, and being a solo parent I find it too much to handle. The house has become silent. That room stays tidy always and there are obstacles to stumble over in the hallway. Both departed. Two leaving, none remaining. It’s so sad.

The Farewell With My Girl

My girl went initially to go. It was a slick operation. A three-hour drive down the M11 and M25 with her hijacking the playlist and tapping me every time she spotted one of those vehicles. We were given an appointment to pick up her keys, and between the two of us we lugged her stuff up several stairs to her dorm; a 6.5-sq metre room containing essentials: a work surface, seat, bed, storage and a board (minus pins). It appeared tidy except for a Cheerio I noticed in the wardrobe. After I used all my God-given strength to get that bedding onto her small double mattress (I should have checked the size), and removed an awful lot of my clothes and cosmetics that she had pilfered from my bedroom, the moment arrived to say goodbye. The image of her walking away (wearing my footwear) struck me in the stomach.

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

Then Came My Son’s Turn

A week later, it was a five-hour journey up the M6 including a night's stay at a reserved budget hotel bursting with sentimental households on the same path. The university grounds were crowded with loaded vehicles containing duvets, air fryers and anxious students desperately trying to mask their anxiety. I hadn’t learned from prior experience from earlier and almost passed out, exerting as if I was in labour to get another single sheet over another small double mattress. Also forgot those pins. I didn’t want restricting his independence by hanging around, saying hello to his neighbours, thus we shared a solid hug and I managed to plant an affectionate peck without causing 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, there were a bunch of students displaying signs from their various societies stating phrases such as BEEP FOR NETBALL AND ENCOURAGE WATERSPORTS, so I sounded the horn and they cheered and I cried during much of the five-hour drive to my house without anyone to hand me that snack.

Coping With the Emptiness and Planning Forward

When I got home, my eyes had dried up. I experienced deep loss, then I switched on the corridor lamp 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 collect my son’s backup EpiPen due to his shellfish reaction. (Although I'm confident he will succeed in steering clear in the coming time). The walk led me by the kids’ old primary school. The sound of the little children having fun outside started me off again and I had to dig deep to steady myself as I said his name, getting his medicine.

I owe so much to my children. The show wouldn't be absent their influence. In our first Motherland Christmas special, Kevin is testing the game (pronounced Mein-Kraft) to see if it's appropriate for his girls. I got most of his dialogue from my boy and his experience with his virtual home burned down and his pigs stolen by an acquaintance. I’m hoping this next chapter of parenting will provide further instances of anecdotes I can use for my work, even though the world goes quiet. Mothers enroll in craft classes while the dads have their midlife crises.

Reportedly, Gordon Ramsay used his boy's underwear after he dropped him off initially. I am sad yet I believe I’m fine avoiding their undergarments. Exist support groups and counsellors that specialise in this parental condition but instead I’ve signed up for netball those weekdays and I plan to have a good old sort-out of the house ready for when they’re back for Christmas. I trust they return with lots of material!

• The author is a writer and show creator.