People ask us who the real mom is. They mean it kindly. They’re curious. They want to understand how our family works. And the answer keeps evolving. When Thea was born, I wasn’t sure how to answer it. I’d say something like “we’re both her moms” and watch the person nod while still looking slightly confused. Now, seven years and five kids in, here’s where we’ve landed: we’re both real. Brit is real when she’s up at 3am with a twin she didn’t carry. I’m real when I advocate at the pediatrician for kids whose biology I don’t share. We’re both real every single Friday night when we light candles and say the same blessing our mothers said. There’s no hierarchy of realness in this house. There are just two women who built something together that neither of us could have built alone. So when someone asks who the real mom is, we smile and we say both of us. All the way. And then one of the kids does something chaotic and the conversation moves on. As it should. If you’re pa...