I think the measure of a man is his willingness to share.
It is honestly a LTB situation. And I don't say that lightly at all.
A wife should not have to ask for money. I saw my DM have a lifetime of this and she was literally counting down the days until we were old enough to fend for ourselves so she could get a little job and not have to beg for fucking every little penny. And as children, we did too. It was a blight on my childhood. I never brought home the notes for school trips or extra curricular activities because I knew I just wouldn't get them. I also never told DM because she would get really upset that my whole class was going to France or wherever and fight with dad to try and get me the money to go, fail and there would be a horrible atmosphere in the house for ages. So very early on, I stopped asking. Mum still thinks that the school stopped the school trips. They didn't. I just threw those notes away.
I never got any new clothes. Not once ever. Even for a special occasion, I would have something my older sibling wore or something second hand from a charity shop if I was lucky. I never got a choice in what I wore. I always felt ugly and ridiculed during my childhood.
Yet Dad, while frugal enough always made sure his clothes were of good quality, new when he required replacements, and would buy what he liked rather than shop around or heaven forbid, go without. He was always meticulously dressed.
DM says I'm the easiest pleased. That I was happy with any gift, no matter how small. I'm not, and never have been but I put on an act since my childhood to spare her feelings because she was doing her best in a financially controlling situation. I used to cry in secret because I never got the real Barbie that my friends got, I just got a poundshop version that broke within a few months. I never had a halloween costume that wasn't a bin bag and witches hat because anything else was 'a waste of money'. During my childhood I genuinely thought we were poor so there was a kind of acceptance, but as an adult I can see that it was financial abuse, and that Dad considered us not worth spending money on. Only himself.
It's been hard to shake off that childhood, and even now at late forties, I don't really think I have or ever fully will.
I panic about being broke. Even when I'm not or when I can easily afford it I still worry about not being able to meet the bills somehow. I associate lack of money with misery and feeling unloved.
I always feel I don't deserve nice things or that they are for other people, not for the likes of me. I still avoid the posh shops. I've always worked, from my teens. We are mortgage free, I'm on an excellent salary and yet I'll agonise for ages over buying myself a damn eye-shadow I like. I feel like I have to 'need' it before I'm 'allowed' to have it. I hate shopping trips because all it ends up being is me coming home empty handed and miserable because I've talked myself out of buying something nice or panicking at the till and putting it back.
I'm working on it, but I've a lifetime of this shit to unpick. One thing I've never done though is deny my son the kind of experiences and things I never had. He'll get the school trips and the jumper days and decent shoes and a halloween costume of his choice.
So if you won't leave for yourself, leave for that little about to be born. When you become a mum, you might want to have a coffee with other mums, or go to soft play. Or buy something adorable for your DC to wear. You might want to sign them up for activities that enrich and enhance their life, or just to give them a bit of fun, like the zoo, an amusement park or a cinema trip with their friends. Neither of you will any of that as long as your husband is like the Grim Fucking Reaper ready to have a go at you every time you spend 'his' money. It will destroy you and damage your child.
Give yourself the freedom to enjoy your baby and their early years and all the years after that. Keep that job, leave and make sure that in the divorce, you get all that you are entitled to. If only to hit him where it hurts.