Chardonnay and frozen eggs

Typhoon signal 8 was up. We were finishing off bottles of Chardonnay and some red wine with tremendous portions of mushroom pasta that my friend A. had cooked for us while lying about in the living room. The room was situated over the panoramic view of Happy Valley and towards Central in such a way that you could not be unaware of the fact that the tiny flat must have been bought at a premium for the view.

A. topped up her glass, then said, "I'm thinking of having my eggs frozen."
V. and I looked at each other then stared at A. with our mouths open. A. has been with her boyfriend for over two years.
"Why?" I asked, having found my voice.
"I want to be able to pursue my career without worrying about my fertility," A. said. "You know, if I have children it is just not possible. Men don't have to think about this stuff so why should I?"
"Do you think about this stuff?" I prodded V., who was trying not to fall asleep. V. shook his head, and said, "Why should I? I thought that was why men got married." But he laughed as he said it.
"You know, I sometimes think it would have been better if we had had babies when we were eighteen or twenty. If we had, the kids would have grown up by now," A. said. I couldn't help chuckling.
"I think we've missed that boat," I said.
"Yes, well that's why I want to have my eggs frozen. I don't want children now, but I know I do want them in the future, and if that future happens to be when I'm forty I don't want to be in a position where I'm concerned about the quality of my eggs. You know your eggs are at their best quality when you are in your twenties and then they start to deteriorate," A. said.
"Does your boyfriend know about this?" V. asked.
A. said, "Well, he agrees that he doesn't want children in the near future yet, either."
"That's not the same though. You're saying at least a decade and a half."
"Well, you know, that could be the situation."
I said, "Just wait until you're a senior associate. I'll bet you will be dying to find an excuse to quit working. I don't think you're going to be so hot on the idea of climbing up the greasy ladder then." A. smiled but shrugged her shoulders.

As I watched A. and V. bicker over the remainder of the wine, I thought of all the extremely healthy and fit women in their mid-thirties that I knew who were single, and also those who had become mothers at that stage in their life. I thought about all the stories I'd read about women trying to juggle their roles as mother and careerwoman - in fact, only last week I'd been recommended a book on it. I thought of the fear I'd felt at the suggestion of getting married when I was twenty-two and had just started working. For some reason all this made A.'s idea more palatable. What is so amazing about becoming a mother that you have to go through bringing up the baby and give up a career, or try juggling both? But then I thought of M. and me and suddenly I wasn't sure why it was such a great idea. What is so great about pursuing an ambitious career path that you have to freeze your eggs to work long hours?

"Hey, if you are serious about this freezing business, you'd better stop smoking,"
I said to A. who had just lit up her umpteenth cigarette. A. grinned.
"I know," she said.