As I write this I'm sitting in an auditorium waiting for my son to perform in a musical.  I'm scribbing this on the back of an old grocery list.  I'm having "a moment".  "A moment" is one of those times where events are taking place, things are not living up to your expectations, and you may burst into tears but you may not so you occupy yourself so the crying in public does not happen.

I've waited since June 11, 2001 - the day I found out I was pregnant - for the opportunity to watch my child perform in a musical.  Yes, that's strange.  But I've waited and waited for the chance to sit back and watch my child perform. 

The kindergarten musical where he was Dish-Who-Ran-Away-With-Spoon was my first opportunity.  He had a costume and a part.  I was so excited.  Nevermind he was the second choice for Dish-Who-Ran-Away-With-Spoon, the Dish Understudy as it were, I was excited.  And Will was excited.  We practiced running and waving styles.  We talked about the Dish's motivation for running away with The Spoon.  We practiced and practiced.  Then, the day before his stage debut his part was cut.  No more running across the stage - the music teacher cut out several "bit parts" for lack of stage space.  Understandably the stage in the cafetorium of the elementary school was a little snug for all of the kindergarteners, but the other bit parts were still introduced at the end of the performance - but Dish-Who-Ran-Away-With-Spoon was forgotten.  He was devestated and I was dejected.  Will is the un-credited Dish understudy.  That was his stage debut.  Uncredited.  Dish.  Understudy.

No matter though because I had another performance to look forward to.  Church Choir musical.

He didn't have a part for this musical, but we practiced and practiced.  He loves singing and dancing.  We both were extremely excited about the musical on the way to church.  I gave him a big stage-mom kiss as I dropped him off in his room.  He said he'd see me later.  My son, on stage, singing and dancing.  So much to be proud of.

I grabbed several programs.  His first program.  My son's name in print in a program.  I considered framing one with a photo of him from the musical.  I had big plans for those programs. 

I looked for his name.  It wasn't in the C's where it should be alphabetically.  Then, I found it.  At the end he was credited as "Wilson".  Unless he's gone the way of the one-named celebrities - Cher, Madonna, Oprah - which I seriously doubt, it means my son, my treasure, my remarkably talented performer, is so unremarkable they haven't learned his full name after a year of practice.  They don't know him.  He doesn't stand out.  He's just another 6 year old with dirty sneakers and a messy shirt.  I imagine the program committee:  "Oh, and there's that brown haired kid.  Um, Will, William?  Something like that..."

I'm swimming in the Sea of Disappointment. 

The couple in front of me has just realized neither of them picked up a program.  I handed them two of mine.  The couple behind me has just realized their daughter's name is misspelled.  The husband consoles the wife by saying "At least it's not like that 'Wilson' who doesn't have a last name."  It's always horrible when your misfortune consoles other people.

It's not a big deal.  I keep telling myself it's not a big deal.  Of course, the more I tell myself that this is really not a big deal, the bigger of a deal it becomes and the more I want to cry.  Granted, it's been an emotional week - I'm training my replacement, preparing to leave a job I've had for 5 years and to leave a place I've worked for the last 7 years - but I refuse to have Stage Mom breakdown.

Chris arrives and I show him the program.  He says "He's not in here."  I point to the end where "Wilson" is typed.  Chris laughs.  I am not laughing. 

The musical starts and I'm about 8 feet away from Will.  He scans the crowd and finally we make eye contact.  I wave at him and smile with the pride only a mother feels.  He mouths "I love you!" And I feel like even if no one else knows who "Wilson" belongs to, I do.  And in a week and a half I will belong to him, and his sister, full time.  I am elated and cannot wait to belong to them, even if the part of Full-Time-Mom goes un-credited, just like "Dish-Who-Ran-Away-With-Spoon".