Maybe it was my Dad who put the wonderings in my head. He was always talking about those ol' pioneers. Driving through the Great Plains in the middle of the winter he would look out the window of our old brown minivan and say, "How do you think those pioneers made it across this state in the bitter cold like this? How did they drive their covered wagons over the rolling hills with snow drifts six feet tall? How did they find enough food and water?" His questions would make me ponder a bit and then I would just come to the conclusion that I sure as heck was glad I wasn't a pioneer.
But now as a new mother I often find my thoughts drifting as I stare across the bedroom while nursing my baby for the sixty-fifth time that day. How did the pioneer mothers make it through the great rolling plains without a pacifier? Did they just sick their finger in the baby's mouth? My little man likes that too- but he finds a way to clamp down right on my cuticle in the exact spot that makes it excruciating. Were they forced to use a stick off of the ground? Maybe they widdled it until it was smooth... And after I think about it too much I just give up and once again come to the conclusion that I'm sure as heck glad that I'm not a pioneer.