Six months after my C-section, my ob-gyn marveled at the tidiness of my surgical scar. “Look at that! Who was your surgeon?” she crowed.

I smiled. I hadn’t peeked at the scar, which barely registered in my consciousness. The first months with infant twins, I cared only about survival and sleep. Besides, the skin above that faint gray C-section line was so incredibly strange, it wouldn’t have mattered if my doctor had installed an actual metal zipper at the point of the incision…