Glorious, glamorous Beyonce is even more glorious and glamorous now that baby Blue Ivy is here. She's been named "World's Most Beautiful Woman," she's basking in that new mom glow, and she's letting us in on her beauty secrets before delivery and after.

She's a diva, all right, but in the nicest, most honest way possible. The crazy thing is, her pre-birth pampering routine sounds oddly like my own. And I don't have the excuse of being, you know, a mega superstar.

But it got me thinking: Am I a diva mom too? A nice diva mommy like Beyonce?

Okay, it's time to come clean. Last week I wrote about some of the deadly pregnancy sins I committed when I was expecting my baby girl (who's 5 months old today!). I thought I was being all sly and funny and bad-ass. Not really, but I at least thought I was being funny. What I didn't anticipate was that I'd be called out by some of you REALLY bad-ass moms who treated pregnancy like it was New Year's Eve on crack. At least that's what you told me in the comments. In no uncertain terms, you said some of my deadly sins were lame.

I'm here to tell you that I wasn't entirely forthcoming before. I played it safe and chose to write about pregnancy faux pas I accidentally fell into. What I didn't tell you about were the ones I knowingly, willingly, joyfully embraced ... and let me warn you, they are seriously criminal. Let's just hope child services isn't reading THIS post.

I've always been a careful person, a woman with a good head on her shoulders who tends to make wise choices. I said "tends to." That means I slip up from time to time. Or, if you count my nine months of pregnancy, a lot.

I read a zillion expectant mom books and took good notes at the doctor's. I stayed away from the bad fish and alcohol and painkillers other than the occasional Tylenol. I didn't whiten my teeth. I took care of myself and my growing baby and was generally healthy (we won't talk about that month of weekly candy binges). But I still unwittingly committed 6 of the pregnancy deadly sins.

I could blame my blond hair. It's a convenient excuse for what those who know me well dub my "Catherine moments." Or I could blame pregnancy brain. But in the end, all I can do is blame my own damn ditzy self.