I reviewed luxury hotels for nearly a decade. Becoming a mom changed what I look for.

When my husband and I were planning our honeymoon along the Amalfi Coast, we had three criteria for every hotel we booked: superb dining, a dreamy wellness program, and a wow factor. We wanted something like a breathtaking view or spa-inspired bathroom, something that would keep us on our just-married high.

Years later, having traded newlywed life for the life of new parents, we were adamant that we would continue traveling. At 2 months old, our daughter Mabel had a passport. Before her first birthday, she’d clocked two international trips — one to Paris and one to the Dominican Republic — along with a domestic jaunt to Asheville.

With each new hotel check-in during this new phase of life, I found that what I needed from my hotel stays started to shift.

The parent effect

I’ve had a long career in the travel space, with a decade spent on staff at “Fodor’s Travel” and “Condé Nast Traveler,” and now as a freelance travel writer.

Hotels have always been front and center in my career and personal life. In my early years, I built digital products and guided editorial strategy centered on hotel evaluation, and later in my career, I was boots-on-the-ground reporting on the guest experience at luxury hotels around the world. My reporting always focused on the details the industry celebrates: the architecture, the spa, the lobby bar, the Michelin-starred restaurant.

But traveling with my daughter forced me to notice a different set of details, ones that most travelers, and many hotels, overlook.

Suddenly, I cared less about the premium wine list and more about if the in-room blackout curtains actually worked. I found myself checking how flexible the dinner hours were, whether there were affordable laundry services with same-day turnaround, whether the mini fridge could fit several bottles of milk, and whether there was a park within walking distance. The things I rarely, if ever, considered had suddenly become the things that could make or break my stay.

My new definition of five-star hospitality

Parenthood isn’t for the weak. It shifts priorities and redirects attention in a way that can feel merciless. But it also brings a unique perspective and reveals the world to you in completely new ways: the joy of wide sidewalks, chasing park butterflies, and picking ice cream solely based on what color moves you that day.

When it came to enjoying my lifelong passion for travel, parenthood didn’t lower my standards for hotels, it just gave me an entirely new set of them. And for hotels looking to build and maintain guest loyalty, widening the focus on which amenities matter most is crucial. Because if there’s one thing humans have proven they won’t stop doing, it’s making more humans.

The hospitality industry has certainly gotten better at welcoming those new arrivals. “Family-friendly” no longer only implies overly stimulating Disney vacations or an unsettlingly warm kiddie pool. The growing trend of on-site kids clubs and child-friendly programming has also made traveling with children easier and more enjoyable. But if hotels truly wish to earn the loyalty of traveling parents, the focus needs to shift slightly.

I expect more now

Those traditional family amenities are low-hanging fruit, and the properties paying the most attention to families know it.

The details that have come to matter most to me are much smaller: a hotel that asks what my daughter’s favorite snack is before we arrive, a staff member who remembers her name, or a housekeeper who tucks her favorite stuffy neatly into the made bed. These things aren’t particularly glamorous. Nor do they require big budgets. Instead, they remind me that true hospitality is about personalization and customization, across ages, and that the smallest details often say more about a hotel’s hospitality than its most expensive upgrades ever could.

For this traveling mom, attention is my new favorite amenity. Because at the end of the day, I didn’t stop caring about the palatial marble bathroom anchored by a vanity with his-and-hers sinks, I just also want there to be a step stool so my daughter can reach the faucet.