Here's the way I see it. If, as a friend of my son, you are going to call me "Mom"...well then, you are giving me all rights and privileges associated with that title. Pride in your accomplishments. Disappointment in your poor choices. And when told that one of your classmates is suddenly an expectant parent, questions like this:
Seriously. How hard is it to use a condom every time? Tell me you use one, Every.Time.
And also, if you're calling me Mom, you really should be prepared for me to continue on with that lesson in responsibility for at least another ten minutes. And you should expect me to reference things like genital warts and herpes, and you should expect to hear statements like "This is your penis. This is your penis with warts." And you really, really, REALLY should expect me to say "Wear a condom EVERY SINGLE TIME!" a minimum of 2,358,903,884,954 times.
Because if you're old enough to be having sex, then you're old enough to be having sex responsibly. And if embarrassing conversations with me about condom use is what it takes for you to remember it? Well, you asked for it when you gave me pseudo-parental rights by calling me Mom.
Consider it my parental prerogative. So don't act surprised when you come home from college on break in a few months, run into me at the local Wal-Mart, and I ask you again if you're wearing a condom EVERY TIME.
Just know that you are loved enough for me to continue drilling that into your hormone-riddled brain for as long as you are a part of my son's life. And then some. Because parental love, even the love from pseudo-parents like myself, doesn't stop just because you've graduated from high school.