The story of my second daughter's birth begins with the first.

In 2008, Kaia was born in Manhattan's St. Luke's-Roosevelt Birthing Center, a true "birthing center" in the sense that we didn't ever feel we were in a hospital at all. The lights were dim, the hallways quiet and carpeted, no trace of machines that go beep. I never had to meet any doctor as we went through the super-long and acrobatic pushing period with a supremely patient midwife and staff of several nurses. After the delivery, we were visited several times by helpful nurses who counselled my husband and I on how to bathe, diaper, nurse and swaddle this strange creature. The next morning, we were out of there, taking a taxi home to our scary and exciting new life.

Before I rerouted to Roosevelt, I was happy enough to opt with convenience. Woodhull Hospital was a block away from our Williamsburg apartment, surrounded by projects, full of folks swearing in exasperation in the endless-waiting room. The doctor who was assigned to me on the first day was cross-eyed and creepy, so I requested a woman and got a midwife. She seemed fine and I stayed put, prepared to let hospital policy dictate my birthing experience, which at this point, I didn't care to think much more about.

Until I saw the documentary The Business of Being Born.

I now knew I needed to seek out a different, more comfortable, environment for the birth where I wouldn't have to fight for my right to go unmedicated and c-sectionless, to do naturally what women have successfully done through the ages. I immediately started looking into my other options and after nixing all-out homebirth or a freestanding birthing center (where if something went wrong you'd have to be transported in an ambulance to the hospital), we landed on the perfect compromise of a birthing center within a hospital.

Fast forward to Sleepy Hollow where we moved last year. The choices haven't been as abundant, which does make choosing easier. Phelps Memorial Hospital boasts a low c-section and intervention rate, being reportedly very natural-birth friendly with various teams of midwives on staff round the clock. The Birthing Center bore no resemblance to the motelesque version I enjoyed with a double bed for the whole family (which no one slept in), but there was the jacuzzi. The hospital certainly felt more hospitally (machines that go beep), but I felt confidant I could still have the birth experience I wanted.

On D-Day, all went like smooth jazz. An easy drive down the road through the height of fall foliage to the free parking in the ample adjacent garage. A quiet arrival (no women screaming in the background to spook me), the room with the big tub was open, and my favorite of five midwives was there.  The only gripe of the laboring phase here (besides labor, of course), was their need to strap me onto the monitoring machine and keep me in bed for what felt like eons when you really, really want to move around during these ever-escalating and crippling contractions. Several hours after our arrival, I was where I wanted to be – in the tub – and things progressed rapidly from there.

Soon enough – welcome Adelie! – we were off to our recovery room, which we paid $70 to ensure it was private, equipped with Murphy bed for my husband and bendy bed of many buttons and configurations for me. I ate the blah food, marveled at my mobility, and did what new moms in hospitals do: ask for the whereabouts of my baby. She kept disappearing for whatever next test they needed to subject her to, but she seemed to sleep through these excursions and the staff honored my desire to nurse only.

Endless staff – always someone different, and often shadowed by two Pace University students – kept parading through at all times of day of night to take my temperature, give me meds, check on my required IV drip, escort me to the loo. In the end though – and it ended officially with a celebration dinner for two of filet mignon, fricassee chicken, and mini bottle of champagne – we were happy with our experience. Having a perfect new baby helps. And though it required some convincing to get out, breaking hospital protocol that we were to stay two nights, we got out after one. After we arrived home to new heights of chaos, we wondered again why we were in such a hurry to leave.

Before we left, my husband had wandered the grounds to discover the Rockwood section of Rockefeller State Preserve we never knew existed. It was so gorgeous with its riverviews, meadows of tall grass, and grand old trees, that he took the family back a few days later. We all willingly returned to the hospital – now that says something.