Some days, I wake up feeling like I could take on the world. I’ve got my coffee (the first one, at least), a mental to-do list that rivals NASA’s launch checklist, and the confidence of a woman who actually folded laundry the night before. And then, five minutes later, someone spills orange juice, the dog eats a sock, and I remember—I am not a superhero. But I’m close. I am a Miami Mom Blogger lol.
I joke about it, but being a mom sometimes feels like living in a Marvel movie. You’ve got the chaos, the villains (aka messes), the allies (Rex, when he remembers to take out the trash), and the sidekicks (Nico and Anthony, who are both adorable and destructive in equal measure). Somewhere between breakfast and bedtime, I morph into Ironwoman—strong, unstoppable, slightly sweaty, and just trying to keep everyone alive.
I mean, think about it. Moms have reflexes that defy science. I’ve caught a falling sippy cup midair like I was auditioning for The Matrix. I’ve opened impossible packaging with sheer determination and the faint rage of a woman who hasn’t peed alone in seven years. I’ve survived tantrums, sibling wars, and the dreaded “we’re out of milk” moment at 7 a.m. That’s not regular strength. That’s superhero-level endurance.
But here’s the catch—Ironwoman still gets tired. She still forgets things. She still feels like she’s failing sometimes. And honestly? That might be the most heroic part.
People talk about “supermoms” like it’s some perfect, glowing thing. The truth is, being a mom isn’t about doing everything flawlessly—it’s about showing up, again and again, even when you’re running on fumes and Goldfish crumbs. It’s about holding it together with coffee, duct tape, and the occasional cry in your car (with the AC blasting and a Taylor Swift song that hits way too hard).
There’s this weird pressure to “have it all together,” but I’ve realized that’s not what makes us strong. What makes us strong is the mess. It’s the moments where you completely lose it over spilled cereal and then end up laughing five minutes later because Anthony decided pants are optional. It’s the way you keep showing up for your family, even on days when you’d trade your superhero cape for a nap and a massage.
The other night, I was cleaning up the kitchen, exhausted and thinking about the twenty things I didn’t get done. Rex looked at me and said, “You do so much—you know that, right?” And I laughed, because in that moment, all I could see were the things I’d missed. But later, when I finally sat down (on a couch covered in tiny socks, naturally), it hit me—he was right. I do a lot. We all do.
We cook, clean, comfort, plan, fix, drive, teach, cheer, listen, and love—every single day. And most of the time, we don’t even stop to give ourselves credit for it. We don’t see the superhero moments because they’re wrapped up in the ordinary stuff.
But the truth is, Ironwoman doesn’t wear a shiny suit or fly through the air. She wears leggings, carries a bag full of snacks, and keeps it together with dry shampoo and determination. Her armor is love, her weapon is patience (and sometimes sarcasm), and her mission is keeping her little world running.
I love love love that about motherhood—the way it transforms you without you even realizing it. You go from wondering if you can do this to just doing it. Day after day, through the chaos, through the doubts, through the 3 a.m. wake-ups. You become stronger, faster, and way better at negotiating with tiny terrorists than any superhero could ever dream of.
So yeah, I’m Ironwoman. Not because I’m perfect, but because I keep going. Because I can laugh at myself, lift two kids and five grocery bags at once, and find joy in the middle of the madness.
And if anyone needs me, I’ll be saving the world one school lunch, one bedtime story, and one cold cup of coffee at a time.