There is no doubt that UK marriages have undergone a seismic change in recent years.

The number of official 'house husbands' has tripled over the past two decades, as wives take over the traditionally male role of breadwinner, leaving men on childcare and housekeeping duties.

But how does it affect a relationship? Ursula and Mike Hirschkorn, who are both in their 40s and have four sons aged six to 12, recently swapped roles, with Mike staying at home and Ursula heading out to work each day. As they reveal here with unflinching honesty, it's tested their marriage to the core.

Ditching pinstripes for pinafores: Mike, left, stays at home to housekeep and look after the couple's four sons while Ursula, right, is the breadwinner and heads out to work each day to earn the family's money

URSALA SAYS:

My husband looked exhausted, close to tears. I felt like I should be reaching out to give him a hug, but I was itching to get out the door.

The reason for his distress? He'd just discovered, at 8am on a Monday morning, that our sons didn't have any clean school shirts. And instead of it being my problem, it was very much his.

'Why didn't you tell me before now?' he pleaded with them, as I silently slipped on my coat and inched past him. I could still hear the protestations as I shut the front door and bolted down the drive. My feelings were conflicted, and I was not entirely proud of them.

Smug? Oh yes, entirely. It was as if a giant 'Told you so!' had gone up, Zeppelin-like, into the sky.

I felt a surge of vindication for all those years I'd clamoured for sympathy or recognition of my hard work as a stay-at-home mother, and was treated as little more than a melodramatic whinger. And, of course, I felt relief that I didn't have to frantically rush around with damp sponges and hot irons, against the clock, like I'd done so many times before.

But there was another, somewhat uncomfortable feeling nudging its way to the surface that I hadn't expected. Distaste.

I realised with horror that I'd lost a sizeable chunk of respect for that man behind the door, the one with stubble on his chin and dressed in a scruffy, old pair of tracksuit bottoms, picking two-day-old lasagne off the front of a child's jumper.

I missed the one in the freshly laundered shirt, smelling of expensive aftershave. I missed being looked after. I missed being that very thing I'd moaned and railed against for 12 years - the dependent wife and mother - and it shocked me.

Ursula misses Mike wearing suits and aftershave and feels that she's lost respect for him now he spends his days with stubble on his chin, wearing an old pair of tracksuit bottoms picking lasagne off a child's jumper

Until recently, Mike and I had held very traditional roles: he as breadwinner and me as full-time wife and mother.

At the end of last year, Mike's sports equipment business, which he'd run for four years, folded. Faced with a terrifying hole in our finances, I took a full-time job as a senior writer at a communications company, while Mike took up the reins at home: cooking, washing, and co-ordinating the boys' packed schedules, all while trying to launch a freelance career and look for another job.

It's meant more than a change in our routines, however. Swapping roles has transformed our marriage in ways I never would have imagined. I just pray we get through it intact.

Although I never set out to be a stay-at-home mother, the moment our first son, Jacob, was born in 2003, I took one look into his deep blue eyes and swore that I would be the one to take care of him. I would not leave this precious scrap of humanity at the mercy of some childminder while I went to work.

The couple married in 2003. When Ursula had their first child, she was initially determined to stay at home

In that moment, I decided what I wanted most from Mike was for him to deliver the security that would allow me to take care of the children without having to worry about paying the mortgage and bills.

Max was born two years later, followed by the twins, Jonah and Zachary, in 2009. While I adore my boys, looking after them has been hard. My husband never tires of reminding me how I would phone him almost hourly when they were babies to ask when he was coming home.

As the children got older, it was no better. For a few years, we had a part-time nanny while I picked up the threads of my career as a writer, but as any woman who works from home will tell you, even with a little help this is no mean feat.

I used to envy my husband having five whole days unmolested by his children and free to go to the toilet or drink a cup of coffee without constant screaming and fights breaking out

Sometimes I would wake at 5am so I could check emails and fit in an hour's work before the boys got up.

I used to envy my husband having five whole days unmolested by his children and free to go to the toilet or drink a cup of coffee without constant screaming and fights breaking out.

He always looked a little shocked when he arrived home to find me standing behind the door, ready to thrust a wailing child or two at him as I fled into the kitchen to knock back a glass of wine.

Once, his mother even took me aside to say: 'Mike is under so much stress, he needs more time to himself. Perhaps you should let him go and play golf at the weekend.'

She is lucky she made it out alive. 'Him have downtime!' I fumed. He got to spend at least an hour in the car alone on his commute, listening to LBC and not kiddie CDs and without anyone fighting in the back seats. The height of luxury!

Yet, as exhausted and resentful as I was, I did respect Mike. There is something sexy about a man earning his family's keep. At night, I would snuggle into his arms and everything would feel right with the world. I felt loved and protected.

Then, at the end of last year, things started to unravel. The money-in versus money-out balance started to tip dangerously in the wrong direction and Mike had no option but to shut-up shop.

He became depressed and miserable, and I grew resentful and spiteful. I'm ashamed to admit I raged at him for not working things out better, for leaving us vulnerable and penniless.

Ursula beleives that Mike never fully comprehended the amount of work children can be to look after

After many soul-searching evenings, the solution seemed obvious. My years juggling Mummy duties with freelance work meant I still had good contacts and was able to secure a well-paid, full-time job quite quickly. I would go back to work.

I knew the adjustments for both of us would be huge. My social skills certainly weren't what they had been, and I had to dig deep to find the confidence to speak in meetings when the toughest crowd I'd faced in recent years was the Parent Teacher Association.

And, yes, I should have felt sympathy for Mike as he struggled to come to terms with his new life, too. But I confess that rather than empathise, I felt a bitter sense of mirth when I heard my own words of woe parroted back at me.

Now I was the one who got the plaintive calls asking when I would be home. I struggled to contain myself as he quailed at the mountains of laundry our four children create.

Ursula admits that she frequently snaps at her husband when he moans about childcare. She has always relied on him to look after her - but that used to mean paying the bills, not washing her clothes and cooking

When I got home in the evening and asked him how his day had been, he would look a little grey and faintly whisper, 'Busy' as he reached for the wine.

While I felt he was never that sympathetic to my exhaustion when I was at home with the children, I can't say I have behaved any better. At the end of a tiring day I don't want to hear about how he struggled with the school run in the rain.

Instead, I usually snap at him about whether or not he has done any job hunting. We have spent many evenings sitting in stony, sulky silence as each of us fails to understand the pressure the other is under.

Of course, the froideur has extended to other parts of our marriage, too. I had always relied on my husband to take care of me, and by that I meant pay the bills. When this switched to washing my clothes and cooking my dinner, I admit that I just didn't find it sexy.

Watching your husband transform from the director of his own company into Mr Mummy is a huge turn-off. No wonder I'm not slipping lustily into my negligee every Friday evening, at the end of a busy week.

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I know this is hypocritical. After all, I had moaned about how hard it was to be a mum, surely I should respect him for stepping up and taking on all those tasks? But I don't. I want a man who can pay off the mortgage, not pack PE kits. I see stay-at-home Mike as less of a man.

It has also changed the power dynamic in our relationship.

While he had always held the purse strings when it came to the big decisions in life, now I'm the main earner, I feel that I should have a say, which has led to some almighty rows.

I've always been the spendthrift, and Mike is the frugal, sensible one. When he earned the money, this balance worked well. Now, however, being told how I should spend my money, that I worked hard to earn, rankles enormously.

Only the other night I screamed at him after he vetoed a summer holiday: 'Well, if you would just get a job then we could afford it!'

It was cruel and nasty, but I couldn't help myself.

Then, of course, there's the part of me that's jealous of Mike. It hurts that the boys seem to have forgotten me so soon.

After more than a decade of being the one they turned to whenever they needed attention, Mike has overtaken me in their affections seemingly overnight. Now it's him they want cuddles from or help with their reading, not me.

Mike struggles when making important phone calls, as the children misbehave and distract him, and Ursula misses seeing the children every day, especially when they ask after her and ask to see her at the weekend

How it pierced my heart when six-year-old Zachary said: 'Mummy, can I see you this weekend? I miss you so much. You're always at work.'

Swapping roles is not easy, but maybe the silver lining is that we have both learnt important lessons.

Mike has discovered that it isn't easy raising children, while I have found out that perhaps I am more of a career woman than I might have imagined.

While I think being a sole carer or sole breadwinner is tough, I hope, with the help of a good nanny, we will eventually find a balance that works for us both.

MIKE SAYS:

The call was an important one, from my solicitor. I closed the office door tightly behind me, yelling over my shoulder: 'Daddy has some work to do. I do not want to be disturbed.'

Yet, my lawyer had barely finished his preamble before I had to politely excuse myself, place my hand over the receiver and scream at the boys to be quiet.

On the coldest day of the year, the twins went to school in damp, grubby uniforms after I had failed spectacularly at my first attempt at laundry management

For about the fifth time that day I looked at the clock, praying for my wife to come home and rescue me from this madness.

I then said another little prayer for me to get a job - and fast.

The irony of our situation is not lost on me. For years, when I was the breadwinner, Ursula never ceased reminding me how hard full-time parenting is.

She is not the type to keep her complaints to herself. But, to be frank, I thought she was laying it all on a bit thick.

To me, it seemed she lived an idyllic life of coffee mornings, daytime TV and spending time with our delightful sons.

So when it was my turn to play house, I thought to myself, seriously, how hard can it be?

If I applied the same discipline to home life as I had at work, I would soon have things running far more smoothly than Ursula had ever managed to.

Of course, I was very wrong. On the coldest day of the year, the twins went to school in damp, grubby uniforms after I had failed spectacularly at my first attempt at laundry management. And in her first week at work, Ursula got a call from our eldest son who I had forgotten to pick up from a cello lesson.

While I might not have everything quite as organised as I had imagined, I find being at home with the boys really rewarding. I enjoy being the parent the boys would turn to for advice, instead of the exhausted dad struggling to stay awake for the bedtime story.

Yet the impact it has had on my self-respect and my relationship with Ursula has been devastating. I know that my wife thinks less of me now that I don't have a job. My confidence and self-esteem have plummeted. She asks me every day what I have done to begin earning again, and it destroys me to admit that I have achieved nothing.

She doesn't respect me as a provider and I know she doesn't respect me as a man, like she used to.

I can see in her eyes, as I lean in for a cuddle, that she doesn't find the needy me attractive any more. I don't blame her, sometimes - tired, depressed and dressed in my slobby old clothes - I don't like what I see in the mirror any more, either.

I want to be grateful to Ursula for going out to work to pay the bills, but I just sense how unhappy she is, and my frustration can spill out into anger.

The one thing I hate above it all is asking Ursula for shopping money. I don't think I could ever get used to that.

I know it's old-fashioned, but I always saw my role as the protector, the one who would go out into the world to provide for the family.

As I feel pretty low at the moment, I would love to find the camaraderie that I know Ursula enjoyed from her Mummy network. But it's quite isolating being one of the few dads at the school gate.

One morning, a couple of Ursula's mum friends invited me to join them for coffee, but I felt so awkward and lonely that I left after 20 minutes.

I pine for my desk at the office. I long to pull on a smart shirt and wrestle with spreadsheets, rather than pull on an apron and whip up tea for the children.

So to all the dads out there who dream of spending more time with their children by working from home, I urge you to think again.