Reverse Flatulence?

Jabin pulled over the antique white metal stool to within a foot of the stove top and climbed up on it.

"I'm going to watch you make the food," he said, settling his rump down and swinging his legs.

"Okay," I said, then continued chopping tomatoes for tonight's pasta salad.

"I'm going to sit wight heah," he pointed out.

"Alright." My eyes stayed on the sharp knife and Romas.

Suddenly, I heard a pretty significant belch erupt from his little mouth. I glanced at him as he broke into a fit of hilarity (as little boys do at that sort of thing.)

"My mouf fahted!" he exclaimed.