It's the way hens cluck when they've laid an egg, and it means what we in the UK also call 'broody'. I.e. stricken with longing for babies.
I've had this from people at work when ex-colleagues have brought babies in. I'm one of those people who loves little kids, but wouldn't want any of my own. The responsibility just scares me, plus I have way too much baggage from the way I was raised. It's kind of hard to explain this to people, though.
It used to be the case that everyone assumed a woman's reproductive life was over when she hit 40, if not before. Now that a fair few women have babies at that age and beyond, I find it seems to be assumed that I (I'm pushing 42) only have to be presented with a mewling infant for my biological clock to be suddenly and belatedly jolted into motion. Nope. I'm perfectly happy being the crazy aunt, thanks.
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"Grunge? Isn't that some gross shade of greenish orange?"