I've NC'd for this response too because given my previous posts under other usernames, I sort of may be recognised by a couple of people.
My mother died.
I was fifteen.
I went to live with my brother, his wife and their blended bunch of kids.
I have told stories about her before and other posters have sometimes been horrified by them.
Your husband is like her, exactly like her in many ways.
The constant criticism. The shouting. The screaming. The swearing. The name calling. The put/tear downs. The threats. The lectures. The sulking. The childishness. The claiming to be the victim because "everybody hates me...boo hoo hoo hoo". Expecting everyone to behave only as she saw fit or woe betide them. The nagging. The controlling. Example: she used to tear toilet roll into single squares, put them in a wicker basket in her bedroom. You had to ask her for some, telling her if it was piss or shit so she could determine whether to escort you to the bedroom to be handed one sheet or two. I have always had terrible constipation and had to scrape secret pennies together to buy laxative pills which I had to hide from her. She found them once and boy, was I in trouble for not seeking her permission to use them.
You see she was so in love with her own thinking that she expected to dictate how sloppy your shit was allowed to be in case you needed too much bog roll that SHE had to PAY FOR even though she had no money or job. Slapping, hitting, punching ocassionally when she was really frothing spittle. She shot her 16 year old son in the eye with a pellet handgun and could have blinded him if the pellet had not lodged in the corner flesh by a fluke, just because she was pissed off with him for holding it too much while she was frying chips in the same room. Punishments that fit her mood, not the infraction. Often there was no infraction, merely something very minor she could twist into one because she felt like having a pop because she had one on her already.
She would feed you things she knew you did not like and you would be in trouble for not eating it, mainly because she took it as a challenge to her authority if you did not like what she told you to like.
She made tinned pink salmon sandwiches once, sodden wet with malt vinegar which made the cheap nasty white sliced bread slimy and gross. I said, "no thank you, I don't like salmon" when offered one. Tinned salmon made me nauseous, always had. She screamed about how I was a lying little bitch because she had seen me eating it before at my mum's funeral, I bloody had not, before throwing some at me and smashing the rest of the platter full into the bin via the wall above it.
She would buy a big box of broken biscuits and provide a cup of tea to dip them in. You were fooled into thinking she was in a good mood. She was, that was until you took one more than the unspecified number she approved of and her face turned to thunder before she threw the rest away or backhanded the box up the kitchen tiles before storming off to loudly do important shit upstairs.
I was bullied badly by a group of girls at school. She had a go at me for it when she found out. Same if her own kids got bullied.
Life lived on eggshells. Absolutely excruciating. I was fifteen to seventeen during all this. It fucked me up for life in many ways. God alone knows what it would have done to me if I had been of primary school age.
You used to only relax if she went out, though you were still afraid one of the neighbours might report on you to her. Your fucking arsehole would pucker and your chest tighten if you thought you heard the sound of my brothers car engine approaching the drive. Your heart would sink into your boots if you were correct, the second you heard the car door shut. I occasionally started shaking when the key was heard in the lock because one of the other kids had misbehaved and it was obvious she would find out and we were all in for it.
She was a vicious spiteful fucking monster, an absolute and utter mother fucking cunt.
I fucking hated her and still do, even though she died. Died alone I might add as all her kids, step kids and grandkids wanted fuck all to do with her well before the end. They only tolerated her till my brother passed so they could be around him. After he passed, everyone fell away very quickly.
I hate her so much I would quite happily dance and piss on her grave, that is, if there had been anyone left out of a family of dozens of children and grandchildren who would have been willing to contribute financially to one or would bother to visit it. Don't know what happened to her ashes even, hopefully someone deservedly sprinkled them on the grass of the nearest dog walkers toilet.
That's my experience. It's very personal and painful but I have told it because I feel for your child and you if your husband is one tenth of this and it does sound like he is. I want you to know how it bruises you inside as a childand in such a lasting way.
Throw him out. Leave yourself. Whichever. You have the funds to survive, by the sounds of it, without the constant stress he provides so free yourself and put your child first.