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Being a mother has given me a pair of children along with a television series (plus a spin-off). Initially, as I stepped into that realm, it was very apparent it constituted a mad world, and ripe for exploitation. Attempting to locate your tribe when you have absolutely nothing in common with other tribespeople, other than babies of the same age, is very difficult, but also full of ideas for comedy.

Over the years, I would jot down little moments or observations that made me chuckle: showing up to a children's celebration wearing the same outfit as a father there; observing with surprise when a mother asked an usher to turn the heating up inside the theater during a class outing to watch The Lion King; the mum whose advice for her kids if they got lost amidst people was “think like a paedophile” (we used this – after getting approval – in the Halloween episode in the show).

My document of observations evolved into the TV programme Motherland, and, more recently, the newer series. However, now my sources of inspiration have left, and I'm unsure how to proceed on my own. They both started uni last week (at opposite ends of the country). I had been fearing this time, and being a solo parent I’m finding it unbearable. Our home has become silent. The kitchen stays tidy always and there are trip hazards in the hallway. Both gone. Two for none. It's truly heartbreaking.

Saying Goodbye With My Girl

My girl was the first to go. This was an efficient process. A three-hour drive down the M11 and M25 with her hijacking the music and whacking me whenever she saw a yellow car. We were given an appointment to pick up her access, and between the two of us we carried her belongings up a couple of flights to her dorm; a 6.5-sq metre room containing essentials: a work surface, chair, bed, cupboards and a board (no drawing pins). It was quite clean apart from a Cheerio I found inside the closet. After I used my full effort to get the single sheet to fit her bed (I ought to have verified this), and unpacked an awful lot of my clothes and makeup which she had taken out of my room, it was time for farewells. The sight of her departing (wearing my footwear) hit me deeply.

The actresses during an earlier season of Motherland.

Then Came My Son’s Turn

A week later, there was five hours on that highway including a night's stay at a reserved economy lodging bursting with sentimental households in similar situations. Campus was rammed with packed cars full of bedding, air fryers and anxious students desperately trying to hide their nerves. I failed to learn my lesson from earlier and nearly fainted, exerting as if giving birth to get more bedding on a further small double mattress. Additionally omitted drawing pins. I didn’t want restricting his independence by lingering, greeting those nearby, so we had a firm embrace and I succeeded to plant an affectionate peck without inflicting any embarrassment to him at all. He waved, then vanished inside his residence, rattling his keys as if purchasing his first house.

While departing, I saw a bunch of young adults displaying signs representing clubs that said things like SUPPORT NETBALL AND ENCOURAGE WATERSPORTS, so I sounded the horn and they applauded and I wept for most of the five-hour drive home without anyone to pass me a salt and vinegar Disco.

Dealing With the Emptiness and Looking Ahead

When I got home, my eyes had dried up. I felt utterly bereft, then I switched on the hall light and the bulb popped out of the socket and the feline entered and puked up a tiny snout and a tail. I walked the dog to the drugstore today to collect my son’s backup EpiPen due to his shellfish reaction. (Although I'm confident he will succeed in steering clear 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 as I said his name, collecting his prescription.

I owe so much to my children. The show wouldn't be absent their influence. During the initial holiday episode, Kevin is testing the game (pronounced Mein-Kraft) to see if it’s suitable for his girls. I derived much of the script from my boy and his experience with his virtual home burned down and animals taken by his so-called friend. I aspire this new phase of parenting will provide further instances of stories I may utilize in my writing, although it seems things calm down. Mothers enroll for upholstery courses as fathers face their transitions.

Apparently, Gordon Ramsay wore his son’s underpants after he dropped him off for the first time. I am sad but I think I’m fine avoiding their undergarments. Exist support groups and therapists focused on this parental condition however I’ve signed up for netball on Tuesdays and Thursdays and I’m going to tidy thoroughly of the house preparing for they’re back for Christmas. I trust they bring home ample inspiration!

• Helen Serafinowicz is a writer and television producer.