For the first decade and a half of my professional life, staying in an Embassy Suites meant nothing more than dreary travel for work: bland hotels scattered across cities that began to blend together, every cookie-cutter suite identical to the last, all racking up hotel points I hoped never to redeem.Then I had a baby.Suddenly, all my previous notions about staying in a hotel were upended. Gone was my passion for a plush Four Seasons room, no matter how small -- as long as it had a deep tub and that decadent perfumed smell. Now I cared not about the ambience in the lobby bar. Nor the Yelp ratings of the spa. Nor the thread count of the sheets.I sought just one thing: a suite. A real one. With a door that shut.